


The Longest Night

by soulfulsin



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Character Death, Child Abuse, Dark, Discussion of Abortion, Not Kid Friendly, Rape/Non-con Elements, You Have Been Warned
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:54:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 33,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28431240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulfulsin/pseuds/soulfulsin
Summary: When Wren Beakley breaks free from FOWL's captivity and escapes with her daughter Webby, FOWL does not take it lightly.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so, this is probably going to have a *long* note section. 
> 
> One--this has been on my LiveJournal because it's violent. It's not child friendly in the slightest. It involves complex and adult themes. I slapped as many tags and warnings on here as I could, but I'm bound to have missed something. 
> 
> Two, I consider this story one of my more controversial DT fanfics. Steelbeak is darker and crueler than the '17 version. He's based on the Darkwing Duck version, but he's more malevolent than that. You could almost consider him Nega Steelbeak.
> 
> Three, later in this fic, if I choose to continue it on here (it's already pretty far along on LJ), Wren ends up laying Steelbeak's eggs. Abortion is discussed at length. Webby is a byproduct of rape, as are her siblings. None of this is particularly new to those who've been following variations on this universe, but it bears repeating. 
> 
> Four--there's no Explicit rating on this because this isn't porn. Eventually, there *is* consensual sex, but it is not shown (nor is the rape, for that matter). 
> 
> Five--for later in the series, again should I continue it on here, Webby is maimed. She joins Della in having an artificial limb. As such, as noted above, CHILD ABUSE. Webby is abused prior to this--Black Heron makes her a target. 
> 
> Okay, I think that's it. I'm sure you guys will let me know if I've missed anything. Due to the sensitive nature of this fic, comments will be moderated.

_I had a dream_

_I got everything I wanted_

_Not what you'd think_

_And if I'm being honest_

_It might've been a nightmare_

_To anyone who might care_

* * *

It’d been premeditated, but Wren Beakey had not been expecting herself to go through with it. She’d snuck into Steelbeak’s room, which wasn’t terribly difficult since he had a standing invitation for her to enter. The Eggheads thought nothing of it; they thought nothing of most things and what was one more oddity? Wren hadn’t expected to get this far. She thought someone would’ve apprehended her when she took the knife or tried to enter his quarters. 

Nor had he noticed anything amiss at her rousing him in the middle of the night for sex. He must not have been aware of his surroundings or thought he was still dreaming. Rather than roll off of him when he finished, which she very much wanted to do, she’d slashed at his stomach. She'd meant to aim lower, but she'd missed. She’d fantasized about killing him for so long that when the moment actually came, she didn’t know what to do with herself. She just wished she hadn’t needed to have sex with him first. 

Leaving was a good idea. She’d worn gloves and a white lab coat; she intended to dispose of them and the murder weapon soon. Adrenaline rushed through her and she tossed the incriminating evidence into an incinerator in his room. Attempting nonchalance, she forced herself to a quick walk out of his quarters. He’d not made a sound when she’d killed him and she wondered whether she ought to have smothered him instead. 

As soon as she was clear, she rushed to Webby’s room. Webby was whimpering in her sleep. Black Heron had nearly killed her again, with Steelbeak’s permission, which had been the last straw. Webby was covered in cuts, bruises, and lacerations. Wren was surprised she’d fallen asleep at all. 

She couldn’t sneak into Webby’s bedroom. The damn clacking love beads gave her away. She wasn’t sure what had prompted Steelbeak to install them, other than to eliminate Webby’s security and maybe because it amused him. It didn’t match anything else in his headquarters and Wren knew Webby would’ve preferred an actual door.

Time was of the essence. While planning this out, she’d skipped her daily dosages for three days, assessed where the escape routes were and how to flee from Siberia, and knew she had only a few hours, at best, before someone discovered Steelbeak’s death. It all depended on when the Eggheads checked in on him or if Black Heron was prowling the hallways tonight. 

She hissed when the beads clacked together and shoved her way in. Webby roused, always prepared for action, and did a double-take at the woman silhouetted in her doorway. 

“Mom?” Webby whispered and winced, having sat up too fast for her injuries. “What’s going on?”

Wren knew she smelled like blood and sex. At least she’d checked that Steelbeak was dead before leaving or thought that she had. But she couldn’t afford to arouse suspicion. 

“You need to come with me now, Webbigail,” Wren said. She scooped Webby up before her daughter had a chance to protest. Webby was tired, drained from her “sessions” with Heron, and from having nightmares the night before. Wren wished she had time to coddle her. 

“What’s going on?” Webby repeated. “Why do you smell...musky? And bloody?”

Wren's stomach felt wet, but that might've been because of what she and Steelbeak had done.

She barked a short, humorless, slightly hysterical laugh. That was one way to put it. The grossest part was that she hadn’t had time to get it all off her feathers. When she got out of here, she was showering in the hottest water imaginable. 

“Not now, baby,” Wren said and stroked her hair. “We’re leaving.”

Webby had too many questions and Wren covered her beak. Cradling her daughter, she pushed back through the beads and did a mental run-through of what she needed to do. SHUSH training took over. Eggheads would be patrolling certain corridors--she’d killed Steelbeak specifically during a shift change when there would already be chaos.

Webby protested, probably asking about Steelbeak, though it was hard to tell through her closed beak. 

“I’ll explain everything later.”

She stuck to the back hallways, the ones seldom used by anyone but the servants. There were escape routes in the dungeons too, but that wouldn’t take her near the helicopter. For that, she’d need Steelbeak’s private access key, which she’d swiped earlier. She might actually get away with this. Her heart pounded. This plan had been hastily constructed and she was surprised it hadn’t failed yet.

She encountered Black Heron, a snag in the plan but not entirely unexpected, standing by Steelbeak’s private access hallway, which led directly to the escape helicopter. Webby flinched. 

“Not now, Heron,” Wren snapped.

“You have blood on your cheek and what’s that? Is that Steelbeak’s private key?” Heron asked, sounding downright gleeful. “My, what have you been up to?”

Black Heron grimaced. “And you smell like sex and blood. That’s an interesting combination.”

Wren wished that Black Heron hadn’t put it so baldly. Webby was bound to piece it together now. The urgency, the blood on her cheek, the smells, and Wren having Steelbeak’s access card. It all added up to a conclusion that she could see Heron had already reached.

Black Heron threw her head back and laughed. “I ought to let you go for that alone. Damn SHUSH agents.”

Shaking her head, she said, “Unfortunately, I can’t. Nothing would make me happier than to see the last of you. But you can’t simply walk away after killing Steelbeak.”

“You killed--!” Webby said, shoving Wren’s hand off her beak. She looked at Wren desperately, begging her to tell her otherwise. Wren suppressed a sigh and ignored her.

Wren placed Webby against the wall and spun away from Black Heron’s first blast. She kicked Black Heron in the beak and Black Heron elbowed her in the face. Adrenaline was keeping her from feeling the fatigue from staying up planning, but she knew it’d catch up to her soon. This couldn’t last forever.

Webby was slowly rising to her feet, Wren saw out of the corner of her eye, but she doubted she was fighting fit. Right now, Webby was a liability Wren couldn’t afford. If Webby wanted to fight, then she’d have to choose a side and stay out of Wren’s way. It was sad, but it was also cold and practical. SHUSH had praised following the rules above everything else. True, Wren had already shattered those rules to pieces, but she was also a hypocrite. 

“What’s the matter, duckling?” Black Heron sneered at Webby. “Did Mommy kill Daddy?”

Webby threw something into Black Heron’s face and though it missed its target (her eyes), it distracted her long enough for Wren to roundhouse kick Heron into the wall. Wren blinked--she’d thrown iodine. She must’ve been carrying it for her injuries. If she could have lingered on that, she would’ve praised her. But, no time.

“If she did, it was in self-defense,” Webby growled. Wren breathed a sigh of relief. For a minute, she’d worried Webby might side with her father. She still might when she heard the truth. Don’t count your chickens.

“Is that what you think?” Heron sneered. She never could resist gloating. She was also more focused on Webby than Wren. If Wren moved, it’d have to be fast. She sized up her opponent, knew that she’d be out of it if she hit her hard enough or disabled the cannon. Or she could do both, though that was riskier. She’d have to be a speed demon.

Wren spun like a dervish, funneling all her desperation, fear, and adrenaline into two strokes. With one, she disabled the cannon and with the second, she punched Heron into the wall. The first was successful. The second...decidedly less so. Heron pulled back at the last second and slammed Wren into a nearby wall so hard that it took her breath away.

“What the hell do you care if Steelbeak’s dead?” Wren gasped when she could breathe again. “Doesn’t that make you the head?”

“Your insubordination can’t go unpunished,” Black Heron said and grinned. “And I’ve wanted to kill you and the brat for years now.”

Webby jumped up and Black Heron pinned her to the wall by her throat. Webby threw herself up, yelp cut off by Black Heron applying pressure. Wren saw red. She wasn’t leaving without Webby. Without Webby, this would be pointless. Every sacrifice she’d made, everything she’d plotted, had been for her daughter’s benefit, not her own.

She brought both fists down onto Black Heron’s head, which staggered the older woman. Her grip tightened on Webby’s throat. Panic threatened to cloud her vision too, but she couldn’t afford to succumb to it. Not now, not when she was so close.

She ran a rapid calculation on Webby’s position versus Black Heron’s and assessed she’d have to strike her so that her head went up. Otherwise, she risked spearing Webby with Heron’s beak. She punched up, at the base of her skull, a so-called “rabbit punch”. Black Heron instantly went limp and she dropped Webby. Webby gasped, massaging her throat.

“Is she dead?” Webby panted. 

“Worry about it later,” Wren advised and unlocked Steelbeak’s private access hallway. “Come _on_ , Webbigail.”

For Webby was still staring, aghast, at Black Heron’s body. She looked up at Wren and backed up slowly as if her mother’s actions had finally dawned on her. 

“You killed Steelbeak _and_ Black Heron?” she whispered.

“This is a war,” Wren snapped. “There are casualties. It was either that or continue being enslaved. We don’t have time for this. The Eggheads will discover what I’ve done soon. Webby!”

Webby faltered and Wren’s patience threatened to snap. 

“If you stay here, you’ll be fully indoctrinated,” Wren said, swallowing back a growl. “You’ll be FOWL, through and through. If you come with me right now, I’ll bring us somewhere safe, that FOWL can’t reach. I promise. Do you trust me?”

Webby swallowed hard and glanced at Black Heron and then back at her mother. She hadn’t told her the worst that Steelbeak had done to her. She’d tried to protect her daughter as best she could in this hellscape. Would it come back to haunt her?

“Please, baby. You have to trust me.”

The door was open behind her and alarms blared. Red lights flashed and Webby took one step back, causing Wren’s heart to jump into her throat. Then Webby propelled herself through the doorway and Wren led the way. They had to run because the doors would be locked down soon. They needed to reach the helicopter and take off before the Eggheads caught them.

The door to the outside was lowering. Wren threw Webby underneath and rolled herself. Her sleeve caught, she swore and ripped it off. The helicopter was waiting and Wren ushered her into the passenger seat. She couldn’t fly as well as Della, but it’d have to do.

The Eggheads opened the access panel as Wren frantically pounded buttons, flipped switches, and pulled throttles. She’d learned how to fly a helicopter in SHUSH training, though it’d been years since she’d thought about it. Hopefully, it would be like riding a bicycle and she wouldn’t crash and kill them. 

The Eggheads faltered, temporarily leaderless. They knew they were supposed to apprehend them, but without anyone calling the shots, they didn’t know what to do. Bullets raked the helicopter’s front, regardless, but they weren’t aiming for anything in particular. One of them pinged off the blades and Wren hissed, teeth gritted. 

“Buckle in. This is going to be a bumpy ride,” Wren said. They were gaining altitude now and she jerked the ‘copter as someone launched a grenade at it. The Eggheads weren’t screwing around. Wren gulped and pushed the throttle all the way down, forcing them to gain height and distance. If this didn’t work, they were dead anyway. 

Once the actual head honchos discovered that Wren had murdered Steelbeak and possibly Black Heron too, they wouldn’t let her live. They might make an exception for Webby, but she couldn’t count on that. 

Something hit the helicopter’s underside and Wren hissed. She hoped whatever they’d gotten wasn’t important.

She belatedly buckled herself in and then screamed, half in exhilaration, half in sheer terror, as she fled Siberia. 

* * *

They didn’t land on McDuck Manor land so much as crash on the grounds. It turned out that the Eggheads had damaged one of the engines and while Wren had managed to compensate for it throughout the flight, the remaining engine had rolled over and died upon entering Calisota. The ejector seats prevented her and Webby from getting trapped in the explosion and propelled them in front of the house. With a groan, Wren assessed the situation. 

No one had followed them. That wasn’t to say that no one knew where they were--Wren had needed the GPS to get here, which meant they could’ve been tracked. However, until the Eggheads had orders from FOWL high command, they were paralyzed. And Wren knew better than to take herself and Webby to SHUSH HQ--it wasn’t secure. It never had been. Steelbeak had made a game out of how many SHUSH agents he could wipe out in a single day and then tried topping himself. It would have been madness to land there.

Not that she was so sure that this was a great idea either. McDuck Manor looked secure, but it was one hell of a target. Wren panted, holding Webby close. The adrenaline that had fueled her escape was gone and she felt like she was going to fall over. Webby must’ve been running on fumes too, because nothing, not even the helicopter exploding in the woods in the distance, had awoken her. 

Wren didn’t know if Black Heron was dead. She’d punched her at the base of her skull and might have severed her spinal cord. She hadn’t stopped to check. Wren’s vision blurred and she cursed. She had to stay awake, at least long enough to ring the bell. Then again, how could Scrooge fail to have noticed that they’d landed on the grounds? It wasn’t like she’d been quiet.

Maybe if she closed her eyes for a few minutes, just to get her bearings and figure out what she was going to tell him, ask him if he was in touch with her mother, it’d work out. She just...needed...a little rest...that was all…

* * *

Scrooge was busy grumbling about business matters and Flintheart Glomgold in his office. Therefore, understandably suspicious and apprehensive, Bentina Beakley opened the front door. In the distance, flames licked at the treetops and she smelled smoke. It had the air of a Launchpad McQuack crash, though perhaps more spectacular than usual. However, Launchpad was in the garage--she could hear his music from the front step.

Her gaze swept the immediate area and settled upon a woman on her side and clad all in black. She was cradling a child to her chest; the child was bleeding through her matching black leotard. Bentina held her breath. It couldn’t be. It was impossible.

She flinched as another explosion rocked the woods. Well, no one had ever accused Wren of being subtle.

Kneeling down, she tried to extract Webby, whose injuries looked more severe than Wren’s, out of her mother’s arms. Wren tightened her grip and Webby whimpered, wrapping her arms about her mother. Mrs. Beakley frowned. Was Webby conscious?

“Webby?” she murmured.

Webby’s eyes opened slowly. She looked dazed and she studied her surroundings without taking any of it in. Then her eyes narrowed, focusing, and she sprang to her feet. The confusion lingered. 

“Agent 22?” she said. “No...Granny. Wait...how did...how did we get here?”

“I might ask you the same thing.”

Another explosion, smaller this time, nonetheless made the two cringe. Bentina scooped up her daughter, who moaned but remained unconscious, and headed for the front door. 

“My mother piloted us from Siberia to here,” Webby said, panting. “And she killed Black Heron and maybe Steelbeak too. What’s going on?”

The front door opened and three curious children stuck their heads out. Bentina sighed. Of course. This wasn’t enough of a circus as it was.

“Launchpad didn’t crash the _Sunchaser_ again, did he?” Dewey asked. He hadn’t caught wind of Wren and Webby yet.

“No. I need to call the fire department so they can put that out before it spreads,” she said. “Everyone, back inside.”

“I want to...I want to…”

But whatever it was Webby wanted, she didn’t find out, because she swayed on her feet and passed out. Dewey and Huey caught her before she hit the ground.

“Her outfit’s soaked in blood…” Huey said, frowning. He pressed a hand to her forehead. “And she’s running a low-grade fever.”

“Everyone, inside,” Mrs. Beakley repeated. “Now.”

Huey and Dewey managed Webby while Bentina carried Wren. She brought them to a small suite on the first floor and ordered the boys away so she could check for injuries and call the fire department. 

What she discovered dismayed her. Webby was covered in old and new marks and several of them, which were deep enough to have required stitches, had opened back up. It was no wonder she was bleeding so profusely. Bentina swallowed back her rage; now was not the time to indulge in anger. Instead, she set about mending her granddaughter’s wounds.

Wren had no visible injuries, save a few bruises and scratches she might have gotten while fighting. Her real problem was exhaustion and Bentina feared that Wren was the only one who knew the whole story.

“I can help,” Huey said at the door. “I need to earn my Junior Woodchuck Nursing Badge.”

She scowled. She didn’t want him to see the extent of Webby’s injuries. Still, she could use an extra pair of hands. Pushing back her emotions, she opened the door. Huey’s beak dropped when he saw the three deep gashes on Webby’s back. She felt the same, but she didn’t have the luxury of reacting right now.

“You need me to wash them out?” Huey said. Thank goodness he wasn’t squeamish.

“Yes, and to help me stitch them up,” she instructed. Huey nodded and, together, they cleaned out the wounds, applied salve, and then stitched what could be. Otherwise, they bandaged the rest. Mrs. Beakley placed a gentle kiss on her granddaughter’s forehead. To prevent her from rousing during the procedure, she’d needed to give her a sedative. She might not wake before her mother, at this rate.

“What do you think happened?” Huey asked once they’d finished. She knew he’d been burning to ask before, but hadn’t wanted to distract her, which she appreciated.

“Aside from stealing Steelbeak’s private helicopter and crashing it on the grounds?” she asked with a ghost of a smile. “That story, I suspect, will have to wait.”

* * *

Webby awoke, her head pounding, and found herself connected to an IV line. The last time that had happened, Black Heron had gone too far in a fight. Yet...this place didn’t look like HQ. The decorations were too fine, too luxurious. Moreover, it didn’t smell the same. Instantly alert, she reached for the knives that were always at her hips. They were gone.

Alarm bells rang in her mind and she snarled. It was a trap. Someone had set her up and she had to escape. She’d thought Steelbeak was done teaching her about how to flee an enemy’s lair, but maybe she’d missed a lesson. 

“Easy, lass,” a vaguely familiar Scottish voice said. “Ye lost a lot of blood.”

Webby’s gaze flicked to the IV line, which was attached to a large bag of blood. She stared, uncomprehending, at the man in the red coat, and then back at the line. She was lying on a four-poster bed and covered in bandages. Someone had stitched closed the wounds on her back and along her hip. This had never happened in one of Steelbeak’s simulations.

But she didn’t have her knives. She wasn’t defenseless without them, though she was uncomfortable. Narrowing her eyes, she tried to figure out where she knew the old man from. It danced on the edge of her awareness, along with a massive headache that threatened to cripple her. Teeth gritted against the pain that throbbed at her temples, she squeezed her eyes shut. It didn’t help.

“Lass? Ye donnae remember me, do ye?” 

Through clenched teeth, she said, “No.”

“I’m Scrooge McDuck.”

Her eyes flew open. Though the headache continued to pound at her temples, she was more apprehensive than ever. She tugged at the IV attached to her right wrist.

“I wouldnae do that if I were ye,” he warned. “As I said, you’ve lost a lot of blood.”

“Where’s my mom?” she demanded. She was confused and it was hard to think straight through the pain. Despite that, she was increasingly positive that this wasn’t a simulation. 

“How much do ye remember of the last few days, Webbigail?” 

The last few...Webby shook her head. She remembered bits and pieces, but nothing coherent. A fire, Black Heron strangling her, and her mother. The Eggheads. It was all fractured in her mind.

“Beakley warned me this might happen. But yer mother’s out cold.”

To her surprise and gratitude, the headache seemed to be dissipating. She glanced at her right wrist again and realized she had two IVs in her, not one. One of them was administering pain medication and possibly antibiotics.

“One of your wounds was infected,” Scrooge continued. “Ye were running a low-grade fever, Huey said. How do ye feel now?”

“Where’s my mom?” she demanded. “What did you do to her?”

“We did nothing, Webby, dear,” another voice, also familiar, drifted into the room. Webby bolted upright. Agent 22. Agent 22 was here, which meant she had to be in an enemy fortress. Her mother might be in danger. There was no sense of urgency about this place, but that didn’t mean anything. Perhaps she was being swept into a false sense of security.

She yanked at the IVs and Mrs. Beakley rushed forward, clamping her hand to her wrist. 

“No,” she said. “Your mother is fine, Webby, just exhausted. You’re safe here. Don’t tug on that--you’ll lose more blood than you can afford to. Listen to me--you are not in FOWL custody. You are not in SHUSH custody. You’re at McDuck Manor.”

Webby glanced from one adult to the other. She didn’t understand.

“Your mother stole Steelbeak’s helicopter,” Mrs. Beakley said and her beak twisted wryly, “and then proceeded to crash it on the grounds.”

“Steelbeak…” Webby said. A memory struck her. “Black Heron...Black Heron said Mom killed Steelbeak!”

Mrs. Beakley and Scrooge exchanged unhappy looks. 

“That would explain the blood on her feathers,” Mrs. Beakley said, grimacing. “She must have killed him and then fled FOWL HQ with Webby.”

“But why would she do that?” Webby said. She shook her head and the pain doubled again. Unable to stop it this time, she cried out in pain. Mrs. Beakley’s frown deepened and she pressed a button that released more sedatives into Webby’s bloodstream. 

“We’re going to have to wait for her to recover a bit more, I’m afraid,” Scrooge said.

“You really don’t know what happened to your mother while you two were held captive?” Mrs. Beakley said. Webby shook her head.

“Nothing...nothing…” She was losing the fight with consciousness. “I’m not telling you...anything else...enemies…”

“She’s been brainwashed,” Mrs. Beakley said quietly.

“Aye. But what did we expect?”

The rest of their conversation fell below her hearing.

* * *

Mrs. Beakley was on pins and needles. While she’d suspected Webby would be brainwashed, she’d hoped for better. It hurt to know that her granddaughter thought she was an adversary. She moved over to Wren’s room, but Wren was still unconscious. Frustrated, she watched her from the doorway.

Wren had been keeping things from Webby. Webby shouldn’t have been as surprised by Wren’s behavior as she was. Bentina was surprised that it had taken Wren this long to assassinate Steelbeak. Then again, if it had, that meant she must’ve been controlled too. Otherwise, she would have tried to flee earlier. 

She wasn’t sure if Webby’s pain was related to the many injuries she’d sustained, presumably from Black Heron, or something else. She couldn’t tell. And until either of her descendants gained consciousness again, she wasn’t liable to get any further answers.

Ah, yes, her least favorite part of being a spy. The waiting game.

* * *

Wren awoke with a nasty taste in her beak. She looked around her and frowned, assessing the situation. She appeared to be in a sumptuous suite, which meant she must’ve successfully navigated to McDuck Manor. Her relief was short-lived, however. Webby was nowhere in sight.

Alarmed, she sprang to her feet and collapsed back onto the bed. The three days without sleep combined with the adrenaline rush hadn’t helped. Now, however, she was frantic with worry about what might have befallen Webby. She’d been so exhausted by the time they’d crashed that she couldn’t remember whether Webby had been with her or not.

Knowing that she was too feeble to walk around, she cupped her hands around her beak and called out.

“Hello? Anyone there?”

Agent 22, no, her mother, entered. Her gaze swept up and down her and she smiled. “Wren. You’ve seen better days.”

“No kidding. I feel like I got hit by a freight truck,” she replied. She fell back onto the pillows. “Where’s Webby?”

“Webby’s safe. She’s down the hall from you. She’s not happy--she thinks we’re the enemy and intends to fight us every step of the way. I’d imagine your having a word with her might help...but you might want to bathe first.”

Wren sniffed herself and grimaced. “I haven’t taken a shower since before...ah.”

She felt awkward. “Webby didn’t happen to tell you what I did before we fled?”

“She said you killed Steelbeak.”

“And Black Heron.”

Her mother raised her eyebrows. “Really.”

“Yes. Black Heron was in my way. Steelbeak, well…” Wren felt oddly abashed. “That required more finesse than I wanted to try before, but I was desperate. He was threatening to lock me in a room by myself until I produced another heir.”

“Webby doesn’t know anything about this, does she?”

Wren shook her head.

“Let me out!” Webby called from down the hall. “I’m warning you!”

“She’s warning us,” Mrs. Beakley said in a deadpan. “I see her sense of humor hasn’t changed.”

Wren smiled weakly. “I might also have brought FOWL to your door.”

Mrs. Beakley suppressed a sigh. “We’ll deal with that when we get to it. In the meanwhile, I’ll help you to a bath. This feels like a conversation that should be held when you’re clean and presentable.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, this fic didn't get ignored and actually got kudos. Amazing. So, here's the second chapter. :P

Wren sank into the bath and was glad the McDuck Manor walls were thick because she moaned. This was downright orgasmic and she intended to enjoy every minute of it. She washed off her feathers, including the downy ones that somehow had accrued blood, and then scrubbed herself thoroughly. She wanted no further taint from Steelbeak and it was hard to suppress the feeling of him after such a long time without bathing. Of course, she feared she’d carry that with her forever, but in the meantime, she could at least rid herself of the smell.

She clenched her eyes shut. Now that she was alone, memories flooded back. She felt like she’d been flung back in time and was riding Steelbeak again, the disgusting feeling of him inside of her only matched by her determination to end this once and for all. The warm rush of blood over her gloves only a minute after he’d ejaculated followed that. She shuddered and finished scrubbing. Maybe alone time wasn’t a good idea right now.

Her mother had brought her clothing that, although old, still fit. She hadn’t gained any weight since Steelbeak had abducted her. If anything, she’d lost weight and the clothes hung strangely. That might also have been because she wasn’t used to wearing what she wanted. She tugged at the shirt self-consciously.

Webby was sitting in a room a couple of doors down from Wren’s bedroom and, to Wren’s surprise, she was accompanied by the triplets, Scrooge, Mrs. Beakley, and...Della? Wren blinked.

“What’s going on?” Webby demanded, jumping to her feet. She’d been alone in an armchair with the triplets on the couch and Della behind them, her hands on Dewey and Louie’s shoulders. At least, she thought it was them. She didn’t know for certain, seeing as they were identical triplets save for the clothing and hair.

Wren grimaced, sinking into an armchair. She smelled like apple shampoo and lavender soap and it was heavenly. To be in a place where she didn’t have to worry about being sedated or accosted was likewise a blessing. The tension she’d been carrying for years oozed out of her.

Without looking at anyone, fearing that to make eye contact would render her speechless, Wren commenced her tale. She edited parts that might be too sensitive for children’s ears, but she generally stuck to the truth otherwise. When she finished, she sagged on the chair. Somehow, she was exhausted again. Telling them everything had taken a lot out of her.

The children looked dumbstruck. Webby, in particular, looked like a feather could have bowled her over. She opened her beak, but no sounds came out. Her eyes were huge.

“That’s...quite a lot to take in,” Mrs. Beakley said, at last, breaking the heavy silence that had descended over the room. 

“I did it for you,” Wren said softly to Webby. “I’ve been fighting every day to get you out of there and back where you belong.”

“You’ve overwhelmed her, poor dear,” Mrs. Beakley said.

“That would overwhelm anyone,” Louie added. 

Webby’s gaze roamed the area and settled on the triplets. She shuddered, curling in on herself; her gaze then flicked to Della and back to Wren. Wren had no idea what was running through her mind, though she feared the worst. Steelbeak might not have been the worst father ever, but he also hadn’t been the best, either. She had to see for herself where the line was.

“So...we’re out. We don’t have to go back,” Webby said and though she intended it as a statement, her gaze was quizzical.

“We never have to go back, baby,” Wren replied. “We’re done with FOWL once and for all.”

Webby nodded, her gaze sliding to the floor. Somehow, she wasn’t as exuberant as Wren had expected her to be. Then again, this was a lot to lay at her feet. Webby rose and glanced urgently at the exit. Wren could feel the panic in her gaze as it swept the room.

“May I be excused?” Webby asked.

“It may be a good idea for the adults to talk this over,” Scrooge agreed. “All right, lass. Lads.”

“I think I’ve learned more than I ever wanted to,” Huey agreed and the kids shuffled out, Webby in the lead. Wren watched her daughter go with trepidation. She’d done her utmost to conceal Steelbeak’s true behavior from her. To have learned all of this was a shock, especially after fleeing what she might have considered her home for the past seven years.

“Now that they’re out of earshot, we need to strategize,” Mrs. Beakley said. “Wren, dear, I’m glad you and Webby are home, but--”

“I know,” Wren said, suppressing a groan. “I’ve brought FOWL to your door.”

“Thank goodness Black Heron and Steelbeak will no longer pose a problem,” Mrs. Beakley said. “Though...Webby saw the former, didn’t she?”

Wren nodded. “She almost didn’t come with me because of it.”

“One of us is going to need to talk to her,” Mrs. Beakley said. Her frown deepened. “But she only trusts you and you’ve just committed a major betrayal in her mind. She may be...unpredictable as a result. I hope we haven’t given the boys more than they can chew.”

Wren wanted to rush after them, but the adrenaline she’d had before had receded, leaving exhaustion in its wake. She felt like she could sleep here, in this easy chair, for at least a week, maybe two. Maybe by then, Webby would have come around. Shit.

“You didn’t have a choice,” Mrs. Beakley said and hugged her. 

“But is Webby going to see it that way?” Wren asked. To that, no one had a response.

* * *

Webby wasn’t as sheltered as Wren would have liked. She heard what her mother hadn’t said and it haunted her. Moreover, she didn’t know the manor at all, having something of a mental block when it came to anything prior to her kidnapping. She was wandering around in circles with the boys trailing her. The last thing she wanted was to answer their endless queries. 

“Why are you guys following me?” she demanded.

“You probably shouldn’t be left alone after hearing all that,” Huey said. “The Junior Woodchuck Guidebook--”

“I don’t know what that is,” Webby interrupted.

“Oh boy,” Louie said. “You do not want to know.”

“Webby,” Dewey said and Webby spun around to face him. She didn’t know how she’d learned their names so quickly or why it felt like she ought to have known them her whole life. After everything that had transpired in the last few days, she was suspicious of anything that came easily. That included the boys.

“You can trust us. I promise.”

She folded her arms across her chest. They seemed well-intentioned, but that meant very little. Her mother had seen well-intentioned, but she’d killed her father. Webby’s throat was tight. She wanted to be alone but suspected that she wouldn’t get her wish. Anxiety prompted her to touch her hips, where her knives still resided. That, at least, was a relief.

“But can we trust you?” Dewey asked. “I mean, you have the whole weapons thing going on.”

“I’m not going to stab you.”

“That’s a relief,” he replied and beamed at her. She glowered, stepping back. Despite what she’d said, she gripped her knives tightly. How could she believe anything anyone said after what had happened? No one was trustworthy. Everyone was out to get her. 

She needed to find somewhere to hide and regroup. But where? And how could she get there without alerting everyone to her whereabouts in an unknown enemy fortress? Her heart pounded and she willed her breathing to slow. Battle readiness was a skill Black Heron had been trying to get her to hone.

Black Heron. Her mother had killed her too. Webby didn’t know how she felt about that.

“I know you haven’t had much interaction beyond your mother and the villains in FOWL,” Huey began. “And you probably haven’t so much as seen someone your own, let alone talked to them.”

Webby bristled. It felt like her back was against the wall and they kept coming. She couldn’t fight them off in the traditional sense, though she could attack them. Then again, this was their house. Her mother had already established that she wasn’t FOWL’s property and with Steelbeak and Black Heron gone, who would run FOWL in their stead? 

“All we’re saying is maybe take your hands off your knives and talk to us,” Dewey said. 

“And tell you what?” she demanded. “You weren’t there.”

“And that makes us better because we’re objective,” Huey replied. He touched Webby’s arm and Webby flinched, not expecting it. Other than her mother, she’d had no conciliatory touch.

She studied each of the triplets in turn. She didn’t know what to say to any of them to make them go away.

“You don’t understand how FOWL works,” she said after a pause. She bit the inside of her cheek. She didn’t know how to talk to them. In the back of her mind, she also didn’t know if she wanted to push them away, because if she did that, then she’d have no one. Then again, she had no one now. There would be no difference.

“So tell us,” Dewey said. She eyed them suspiciously.

“Why do you care so much?” Unless they were cataloging her weaknesses to use against her, which was possible, but unlikely. Their eagerness and openness didn’t appear to be an act. Or, at least, it wasn’t one turned against her. Desperation and fear clawed at her chest. She retreated a step and then hated herself for ceding ground to the enemy.

No. They weren’t the enemy. Was her mother one? But...Wren was her _mother_. She’d loved and cared for Webby when no one else had, when Steelbeak had foisted her off, and Black Heron had abused her. Did that excuse what she’d done? Webby didn’t know. A sizable headache was coming on. 

Without thinking about where she was going or how she intended to get there, she bolted. Fight or flight had kicked in and she needed to flee. The footsteps behind her spurred her on. She knew she could outrun them. What she hadn’t expected was one of them to tackle her. She had a split second warning before he did it.

“Dewey!” Huey warned and Webby spun, knocking the middle triplet away. Louie caught him before he crashed into the wall and her heart pounded harder. Fear had dilated her pupils and she’d forgotten to draw her blades. Her breathing was shallow.

“We’re not gonna hurt you,” Dewey protested. He held his hands out. “You can trust you. I promise. We’re not your enemies, Webby.”

“Says the kid who wasn’t thrown into the wall,” Louie muttered. He’d arrested Dewey’s fall all right--by being his cushion and getting slammed into the wall himself.

She had no reason to trust them and every reason to escape. Studying her surroundings, she spied an air duct above them. She reached for her knives and caressed the hilts.

“Webby, _please_ ,” Dewey begged. She didn’t know what he thought she was going to do--attack him, maybe. Nonetheless, she stilled. She wanted to run and keep running until this all made sense. She doubted she’d ever get the chance, but that didn’t stop her from craving it. The lower half of her beak quivered.

“You’ve been through a lot,” Dewey said. “Just be a kid for once. Not a FOWL agent in training. Not Steelbeak’s daughter. A kid like us.”

“I don’t know how to be,” she said in a strangled voice.

“Then let us show you,” Dewey replied. Her heart was slowing down.

“What are you doing?” Louie hissed. “You’re going to get us all killed.”

His tone sharpened her focus again and she straightened, having relaxed her stance at Dewey’s words. She aimed the knife and flung it at the duct so that the cover came off. Judging the distance from here to the duct, she propelled herself off one wall, onto the other, and back and forth until she’d reached the air duct lip. Then she pulled herself up and over.

“Wait,” Dewey pleaded. 

She watched him from her vantage above them. She needed to trust someone, didn’t she? Or could she get by without trusting anyone? Was that the only way to survive? Her gaze met Dewey’s and she faltered. The boys looked so honest and innocent. Before she’d come here, she’d never seen children her own age, let alone kids whose expressions were that open. 

“I’m waiting,” she said softly.

“Wow,” Dewey said, half to himself. “I didn’t think that would work.”

“You’re not the only one,” Webby muttered. She remained apprehensive.

“We don’t have any hidden agendas,” Dewey continued. “We’re not gonna hurt you or attack you. We just wanna talk and hang out.”

Webby dropped back to the floor and stowed her knives again. “Hang out?”

“You know, normal kid stuff,” Huey confirmed and smiled at her. She smiled back and it felt strange on her face. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d smiled. 

“Okay,” she said. Her heart was slowing down. “We can do that. So...what do normal kids do?”

Dewey’s smile was bright and effervescent. Webby didn’t feel equal to it.

“Let me show you,” he said. “You have no idea what you’ve been missing.”

She didn’t know trust that well, especially when she could only trust her mother in FOWL and she had her doubts about her now. But she knew how to let herself be vulnerable if only a little. Dewey offered her a hand and she took it. She looked at each of the boys in turn.

“Show me,” she said and excitement rushed through her. She matched Dewey’s grin. “Please.”

* * *

Scrooge sighed, leaning back from the security system. The kids had gone off into the boys’ room and Dewey was showing her Dewey Dew-Night, Huey was talking about the JWG, and Louie was playing around on his phone. Webby wasn’t about to run, which was a relief to Wren and Mrs. Beakley. She had formed a tentative relationship with the boys. That meant they were free to focus on the real problem.

“We don’t know what FOWL will bring to bear now that you’ve killed the two top members,” Mrs. Beakley said. She put a hand on Wren’s shoulder and then hugged her tightly, fiercely. Her daughter smelled of lavender and tension flowed out of her. It was amazing the effect a few days had. 

“It’s too much to hope they’ll just leave me alone, isn’t it?” Wren said with no real conviction. 

“I’m afraid so,” Mrs. Beakley said gently.

“I’ve contacted Gyro and warned him that we have a situation,” Scrooge said. “But we must prepare ourselves too.”

“Webby doesn’t have to know the extent yet, does she?” Wren asked, desperate to shield her daughter as much as possible.

“No,” Scrooge said and smiled. “Let her be a child for a bit longer.”

* * *

Wren was alone again, standing in her new room and staring at the clothes her mother had dug up. She was shaking and she needed to sit down or she’d fall down. For some reason, her last moments in FOWL HQ were replaying in her head. She could feel Steelbeak’s warmth, both types, and the way Black Heron’s spine had snapped. She buried her face in her hands and cursed softly.

She could also feel a growing discomfort. The last time she’d felt like this, it’d been because she’d been about to lay Webby’s egg. She groaned and clenched her beak shut. Maybe if she ignored it, it would go away.

No. No, it wouldn’t. Sharp pain felt like it was splitting her abdomen apart and she screamed. 

Her mother rushed into the room because Wren had been foolish enough to leave the door open “in case she needed something”. Wren turned tear-filled eyes and streaked cheeks upon her mother.

“Steelbeak...eggs...kill me…” she breathed. This was worse than it’d been with Webby. This felt like a clutch, not just one. It was impossible to tell when it had happened, too. Not that it mattered. She didn’t know what she was going to do. The pain was making it difficult to focus on a course of action, too.

Mrs. Beakley took charge because it came naturally to her. Wren barely heard her barked orders, though she saw the kids scrambling to obey. Webby halted, looking in at Wren.

“Mom?” she whispered. “What’s wrong?”

Wren screamed again and whatever compunctions Webby might’ve had about her mother, whatever issues she had with her after their escape, she threw aside for the time being. She rushed into the room and flung her arms tightly around her mother. 

Wren smiled weakly at her daughter. “Hello.”

“You’re needed in the kitchen, Webbigail,” Mrs. Beakley said and Wren saw it for what it was, an attempt to protect Webby. Webby glowered, fierce.

“I’m not leaving her,” Webby retorted.

Mutely, Mrs. Beakley looked to Wren. 

“Let her stay,” Wren gasped out and then screamed in pain again. Tears fell down her cheeks and she hugged Webby back. She kissed her and then had to shift so she could assume a better position to lay the eggs.

“What’s going on?” Webby asked. Her eyes were huge and her beak quivered, as did her tail. She seemed reluctant to stop touching her as if her mother might vanish if she lost contact. Wren wished she could reassure her, but she had her own problems right now. 

“Just tell her,” Wren bit out. 

“Wren, dear, are you sure?” Mrs. Beakley said.

“Yes, I’m sure!” Wren snapped, the pain making her waspish. 

Mrs. Beakley still hesitated.

“Fuck it,” Wren snarled. “Just. Tell. Her.”

“She’s laying eggs,” Mrs. Beakley said after clear misgivings. “They’re Steelbeak’s.”

She shot her a quick glance as if to confirm and Wren glared. As if they’d be anyone else’s. As if Wren had ever taken a lover voluntarily. She wanted to throw something at her, but there was nothing on hand within arm’s reach. She growled.

“This can take almost a day, if not longer,” Mrs. Beakley added. “You might want to give her some space, Webby.”

“A _day_?” Webby exclaimed, alarmed. “You’re going to be like this for a day?”

“I was with you,” Wren muttered. Webby looked aghast and Wren had no patience to deal with her. 

The boys halted outside the door too and Mrs. Beakley grabbed Webby, who was too stunned to fight her, and hauled all of the children out after relieving them of their burdens. She closed the door behind her and Wren gasped. It was a good thing Steelbeak was dead because Wren wanted to kill him again for putting her through this.

The kids had never been around a female duck laying eggs. Della had opted to distract them and the walls were thick enough to prevent anyone from overhearing Wren’s cries. Wren wanted to wring Steelbeak’s neck...it was so easy for him, because roosters didn’t lay eggs. Motherfucker.

She had a half thought that horrified her. She could crush the eggs--she didn’t know yet if they were fertilized or if they’d ever hatch. They could be duds--she’d laid duds before and had been relieved every time when they didn’t hatch. If they weren’t duds, no one would know except for her. 

But then she thought of Webby and she despaired. She couldn’t do that to an unborn duckling. Therefore, she’d have to hope that the eggs weren’t viable. Nonetheless, she had a sinking suspicion that they were fertilized. 

All of this horrific pain and the bastard was already dead. She wished she knew a necromancer and…

She screamed. Never mind all of that. She’d have to endure twenty-four hours of the worst pain imaginable all to bring unwanted ducklings into this world. But...if they were anything like Webby, maybe it’d be worth it. Maybe.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, kudos. You like me, you really like me! 
> 
> Seriously, though...thanks.

Webby was anxious, despite what Della and the boys did to distract her. Though she couldn’t hear her mother screaming, she felt it in her bones. Steelbeak had done this to her. Here was the actual, physical proof that Steelbeak had hurt her mother and continued to do so from beyond the grave. 

For all that she was upset with her mother for everything at FOWL, she loved her dearly. Wren had been the only person who cared about her in the whole damn HQ and now she was suffering. Worse, she’d done it for Webby, which made her feel guilty. She was the cause of her mother’s grief. If she’d never been born…

Wren had never made Webby feel like she shouldn’t have existed. However, now that Webby saw the pain Wren had endured to deliver her egg, the trauma Steelbeak had inflicted on her, and her mother’s misery, she couldn’t help but feel like things would’ve been better if she’d never hatched. Her mood sank deeper and deeper.

The boys had turned on their favorite TV show, The Ottoman Empire, and had turned into zombies. Webby glanced over at Della, who was frowning. 

“What even is the point of this show?” Della asked. “They build furniture. So what?”

“It’s ‘reality TV’,” Huey explained.

“Whose reality?” Della muttered. Webby sank in on herself and surveyed the room. There was only one exit and she weighed whether she could reach it before Della nabbed her. She didn’t know where she was going or what she intended to do, only that fight or flight was fluttering in her breast. 

Webby sat in a chair and not on the couch, seeing as the boys had sprawled out to take it over. Della frowned, moving in front of her and blocking her view of the TV. Seeing as Webby hadn’t been watching it, she wasn’t perturbed. She was, however, wary that Della might spoil her nascent plans, such as they were.

“Are you okay, honey?” Della said. “You seem upset.”

Webby balled her fists and debated how much to tell the stranger. She vaguely remembered reading something about Della Duck back when she’d been obsessed with the McDuck/Duck family, but what that was, she couldn’t recall completely. That mental block remained firmly in place.

“I’m new to this whole parenting thing, but I’ll get it,” Della promised. “Do you want to talk?”

“Sssh, Mom, the show’s on!” Louie complained and Della rolled her eyes. 

“Follow me,” Della commanded and whether it was the motherly airs that she nonetheless possessed despite her self-professed lack of experience or Webby was desperate, she followed her out of the room. There was an air vent near the living room and she could throw one of her knives up to dislodge the cover. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to. Regardless of how much or how little she could trust her, Webby’s instincts were telling her to let her in. She’d like to think that, thanks to her mother, she had good intuition. 

Della led her to another, smaller sitting room, this one without a TV. She sat Webby down on a loveseat and turned toward her. Their knees brushed and Webby flinched, thinking of how miserable her mother must be alone. Then again, she hadn’t seen Agent 22 around, so maybe her grandmother was taking care of her. That didn’t erase the feeling that Webby ought to be there, but it ameliorated it somewhat.

“You’re worried about your mom and everything else that happened,” Della said. “That’s normal. Well, being worried is normal. Everything else…”

Webby didn’t even attempt a smile. 

“I can’t even pretend to know what you’re going through,” Della said and took her hand. Webby yanked it away without thinking and Della sighed. Suddenly, the physical contact was too much and Webby scooted back so that their knees no longer touched. She couldn’t stop seeing Black Heron’s mangled corpse and thinking about her father. It was like it was on repeat in her head and nothing drove it out.

Her father had done this to her mother. And she’d been driven to kill him. It had only happened because of her. If Webby hadn’t existed, Steelbeak wouldn’t have had such a hold on Wren. Webby didn’t feel like running anymore, but she also didn’t feel like doing anything else, either.

“What’s happening isn’t your fault,” Della said, perhaps sensing where Webby’s thoughts had gone. “Don’t blame yourself.”

“She wouldn’t be in this situation if it hadn’t been for me,” Webby muttered.

“Hey. Hey,” Della said. “Look at me. She made the choices she did, just like I decided to take a stupid rocketship to the moon.”

“That’s it!” Webby said and then flushed. “Sorry. Sorry.”

“Wait, what?”

“That’s how I know you. Before FOWL kidnapped me, I was doing research on the McDuck/Duck family and trying to figure out what had happened to you.”

“What do you mean ‘figure out what happened to me’? Didn’t Uncle Scrooge mention it?”

Webby shook her head. “He wouldn’t talk about it. I went snooping where I shouldn’t have been--”

“But you were, what? Five years old?”

Chagrined, Webby nodded.

“That’s incredible. Not the snooping--you probably shouldn’t have been doing that. But that you could find that information and dig it out at five years old is impressive.”

Nonetheless, Della scowled. “He didn’t say _anything_ about me? Anything at all? So, what, I just vanished off the face of the earth?”

This didn’t feel like a conversation she should be having with her. It felt more like one Della ought to be having with Scrooge. The older woman must have realized this too because she shook her head. 

“Never mind. I’ll deal with that later,” she vowed. “What I was saying was that your mom made her choices. She put herself in that situation. You can’t blame yourself for being born. And you definitely can’t blame yourself for what other people do that doesn’t involve you.”

She put a hand on Webby’s shoulder and although Webby flinched, she didn’t push it away.

“I know you can’t ask her right now--she’s in the middle of something--but I’m sure she’d tell you that she doesn’t regret having you. No matter how it happened. I don’t regret having my boys. I just regret not being there for their first ten years.”

“You were stuck there for ten years?” She’d only known Della had been missing before FOWL had kidnapped Webby. From then on, she’d lost track of the McDuck/Duck clan.

“Yeah. I’m not exactly proud of it. Wait, the boys didn’t tell you what happened to me? Back before you were kidnapped?”

“The boys weren’t living here.”

“I knew that Lunaris was blocking my transmissions, but…” Della looked despondent and Webby couldn’t help but feel that she’d made the situation worse. She had no energy to spare to creep away, so she sat there like a bump on a log. The wall opposite her had a large bookcase filled with old volumes, some in Latin, and others in various (non-dead) foreign languages.

“Wait, if the boys weren’t living here, where were they living?”

Webby shrugged. How was she supposed to know? It’d taken an indeterminate amount of time to unearth what had befallen Della and even that had been fragmentary. Donald Duck and his nephews had fallen off the grid, as far as she remembered. She knew Scrooge had kept tabs on them, but that was it. And anyway, anything from before her kidnapping was murky, if it was present. 

“And that’s another thing to ask Uncle Scrooge about,” Della grumbled. Louder, she said, “We all did things we regret and we’re all trying to make up for them and ensure our kids don’t make the same mistakes we did. Your mom was trying to protect you the only way she knew how. Whatever she did or didn’t do, it’s on her, not on you.”

Though the manor’s walls seemed soundproof, Webby heard a distant wail. Della cringed.

“I do not envy her,” she said and shook her head. “We don’t have to go back to the living room with the boys if you don’t want to watch The Ottoman Empire. But we should still do something to get your mind off things.”

She frowned, thoughtful. “I wonder where Lena went.”

“Lena?” 

That name too sounded familiar, but it didn’t come with the same vagueness the rest of her memories did. Steelbeak had mentioned Lena. Lena de Spell. The living shadow of Magica de Spell and the bane of the sorceress’s existence. Beyond Magica loathing her and Steelbeak taunting her about it, saying that Magica couldn’t ‘handle one little kid”, she knew nothing about the shadow girl.

She didn’t even know how old she was.

“This house sorta became a place for wayward kids,” Della said, but she sounded proud rather than embarrassed. “It has a tradition to uphold. You two should meet. You’d like each other.”

“Maybe…” Webby said. She still wanted to be with her mother, but she sensed that was a bad idea. Distractions were the last thing her mother needed right now. Plus, her grandmother ought to have it covered, right?

“I’ll even introduce you to Penny,” Della offered. 

That name didn’t even sound remotely familiar. She turned a quizzical gaze upon the older duck, who beamed back at her. Della was effervescent, brimming with energy and enthusiasm, and it was infectious. Webby had never met anyone quite like her. Everyone in FOWL HQ was dour, cruel, and vindictive (except her mother). Even her mother had been withdrawn and somber most of the time. Unencumbered by villains and unburdened by her situation, Della was determined to spread cheer and goodness. 

She was thankful that Della didn’t look her way as they walked through the house and tried to find Lena and Penny. Della was the first person who had ever been nice to her that wasn’t related to her or looking for anything in return. Webby was getting a crush on her.

* * *

Oblivious to whatever was transpiring in the rest of the house, Wren was lost in her pain and suffering. The eggs had yet to fully drop and Mrs. Beakley was at a loss. The last time Wren had laid an egg, she’d done it secretly and left Webby for her to take care of before absconding. At the time, she’d thought it was highly irresponsible. Now that she knew Wren had been trying to head off FOWL and Steelbeak in particular, she understood. 

The older former agent swallowed a lump in her throat. For how long had Wren held out hope of rescue before abandoning it? They had tried their utmost to find them, but every attempt had been scuttled or ended in disaster. That didn’t mean she didn’t feel guilty about it, especially after seeing the extremes to which Wren had been driven. 

She was proud of her daughter for surviving it, though she had a way to go before she could say that she’d overcome it. She smoothed back Wren’s sodden hair. After about two hours of straining, pushing, and attempting to modulate her breathing, Wren was likewise unaware of her mother’s presence. Even if Webby managed to evade the others and returned, Wren would not have noticed her.

Unless it was medically necessary to bring in a doctor, Mrs. Beakley had nothing left to do. She was reluctant to leave her daughter in such a vulnerable state and she’d had worse stake-outs. Part of her felt like she ought to be there anyway because if they’d found her sooner, she wouldn’t be in this mess. (That sense of responsibility for other people’s actions seemed like a genetic trait of the Beakley/Vanderquack line).

Therefore, she sat to watch and waited for the eggs to materialize. She was a patient woman--she’d waited this long to see her family again, hadn’t she? And, even if Wren didn’t seem like it at the moment, she needed her. Mrs. Beakley wasn’t going to vanish on her now, not if it was within her power to remain.

* * *

“Oh, hey,” Lena said. She was listening to an old song, from the early 2000s, on her phone. Della smiled. She’d immediately taken a shine to the teenager, who needed all the help she could get. Lena had secreted herself away in a room near the back of the house. 

Penumbra was there too, glowering at a video game and looking like she was about to break the controller. Della should probably intervene before she had to explain to Huey why his system was busted.

“Hey,” Della said back to Lena and then tugged on the controller. “Okay, Penny, you’ve played enough for today.”

“Don’t tell me when I’ve played enough, Earther!” Penumbra snarled. “The beast isn’t dead yet!”

Webby, behind them, gaped. “Is she always like this?”

“Penumbra?” Lena snorted. “Sometimes, she’s worse. She gets really intense on video games.”

Della knew Lena was either slightly awed by the moonlander or else intimidated by her. As Lena wasn’t liable to tell her one way or the other, she focused on the more important things, namely keeping Penumbra from breaking the console and/or the TV. It wouldn’t be the first time Penumbra had broken either of those two things and Della was a little tired of explaining to Uncle Scrooge just why they needed new ones as replacements.

Fortunately, Della had a trick up her sleeve. She leaned in and pecked Penumbra on the cheek. Startled, the moonlander threw the controller up in the air and Webby caught it. Good reflexes. Then again, she’d been trained.

“That is a gross violation of protocol!” Penumbra protested.

“What protocol?” Della said innocently. “I was just giving my girlfriend a kiss.”

Penumbra went scarlet, which was an interesting color coordination with her skin.

“I told you, Earther, not to call me that in public,” Penny snapped.

“We’re not _in_ public,” Lena pointed out. “And if you guys are gonna get all lovey-dovey, I’m out.”

“We’re not,” Della reassured her. “Webby, these are Lena and Penumbra, a.k.a. Penny.”

Penumbra’s gaze lit upon Webby’s knives, which someone should have thought to remove before now. Della suppressed a groan. She _would_ see those first. Then again, she’d been trained to assess all potential threats and neutralize them before they became a problem.

“Why is that Earth child carrying weapons?” Penny demanded. 

Oh, boy. Della suppressed a groan. This was going to take a long time to explain.

“You know what? On second thought, why don’t you and Webby go off while I tell Penny all about SHUSH, FOWL, and everything else that happened here in the last few days,” Della said. She was not looking forward to it. 

She watched the girls leave and honestly, she’d rather have gone with them.

“Why are you allowing a child to walk around armed?” 

“Sit down,” Della said and gestured toward an easy chair nearby. Penny gave her a look that suggested she was insulting her intelligence.

“No. I demand to know why that Earth child is allowed to walk around with weapons and yet, I was asked to leave mine in my room while I walk around the manor. Does she have a higher status than I do? Is she a threat? Answer me!” 

“She’s walking around with knives because we haven’t had time to take disarm her yet,” Della said, settling in the chair herself. It faced the TV, where a game over screen flashed at her. She must’ve interrupted a boss battle. Oops.

“Her mother’s in labor and they just escaped from an evil enemy fortress…” Della started. Penumbra was watching her avidly now.

“You have my attention,” she announced. “Explain.”

“Phew, boy, this is not gonna be fun…” Della muttered. 

“What was that?!” Penumbra demanded.

“Nothing, nothing,” Della said and sighed. “Nothing at all.”

* * *

“This house is kinda weird, just to warn you,” Lena said. “What was the big emergency that she dropped you on me? And who _are_ you, anyway?”

“I’m Webbigail Vanderquack.”

“Holy shit. You’re kidding me. You’re fucking kidding me. You’re the missing duckling that Lady Crumpets mentioned.”

“Excuse me?” 

Lena backtracked. Not everyone knew her affectionate (and not so affectionate) nicknames for Mrs. Beakley. Plus, like Penny, Lena was apprehensive of Webby and her knives. She didn’t doubt that Webby knew how to use them, either. She didn’t feel like getting stabbed any time soon, thanks.

“Mrs. Beakley,” she explained. “You’re her granddaughter.”

“Yes?” Webby said, turning it into a question.

“I didn’t know if you actually existed or if you were just a figment of the old lady’s imagination.”

“You’ve heard of me.”

“I’ve heard _about_ you,” Lena corrected. “Your grandmother’s been searching for years to find you.”

“She didn’t do a great job of it, did she?” Webby said and Lena detected the bitterness in her tone. No wonder Della had wanted her to hang out with her. She could see the hallmarks of an abused child already. Plus, if she’d come out of FOWL, she’d probably have scars, both physical and emotional.

“You’re, like, legendary,” Lena said and shook her head. “I’ve gotta say, pink, I was expecting more.”

“You’re the living shadow of Magica de Spell,” Webby responded and Lena flinched. 

“Yeah...ix-nay on the Magica thing. I don’t like thinking about us being related.”

“Your master used to call into FOWL all the time just to complain to Steelbeak about you.”

“I don’t know whether I should be flattered that Aunt Magica thought that much of me...or disturbed that you just used the word ‘master’.”

Webby frowned, studying her. “Sorry.”

Despite the apology, it seemed perfunctory, as if she were only vaguely obeying the rules of etiquette. Oh, yeah, Colonel Crumpets was going to have a field day with her. Beyond that, though, the chill of Magica being referred to as her “master” was not going away any time soon. It reminded her of her imprisonment in the shadow realm and eventual escape thanks to the boys, to whom she owed her life. 

It held no pleasant connotations.

How did you recover from something like that? Lena was fighting back PTSD.

“Who’s Steelbeak?” Lena asked, gritting her teeth against the flood of memories that threatened to sweep her away.

“My dad.”

“Your dad is the head of FOWL?” Lena exclaimed.

“Yeah...heh. Kinda. He’s more like a figurehead. Or he was until Mom killed him.”

“Woah, woah, woah. You’re gonna need to backtrack a bit there, pink. Like, a lot. Also…” she shuddered. “Don’t ever refer to Aunt Magica as my ‘master’ again, okay?”

“Sorry,” Webby said again and this time, it was more heartfelt. 

“Anyway...go on.”

Webby grimaced, searching the halls for a place to sit and chat. Lena led her into an adjacent room, where she could faintly hear Penumbra yelling about something or another. That woman was scary when her blood was up, but Della took it in her stride. Then again, Della was part badass, part idiot. Lena didn’t even know how that worked.

They settled down on a relatively new couch--this particular room didn’t see much wear, as it was toward the back of the house. Hell, it even had tapers, for that old-timey feel. Weird. No matter how long Lena spent in the manor, she never thought she’d get used to it completely.

“All right, so, you know that I was kidnapped when I was five, yes?”

Lena nodded and gestured for her to continue.

“After that, things get a little more complicated.”

What could be more complicated than being kidnapped? She guessed she was about to find out.

* * *

After waiting nearly a day to speak with her mother, Webby was on tenterhooks. She’d withdrawn into herself, avoiding the other kids, and had locked herself in her room. Mrs. Beakley had the key, but it was the principle of the matter. If she barged in now, Webby would think that she had no sanctuary and might try to flee the house. That was the last thing they needed. Webby didn’t know Duckburg at all; if her memories regarding McDuck Manor prior to her kidnapping were foggy, then anything regarding the surrounding city would be nonexistent. 

At long last, Wren collapsed against the bed and two large eggs slid out of her. When Mrs. Beakley indicated that she intended to clean them up and then find a place to incubate them, Wren nodded weakly and then passed out. It had been a long twenty-six hours. Her daughter needed the rest.

As she tended to the eggs, the boys nearly bowled her over. She placed the eggs in a secure location, told the boys she’d keep them appraised, and knocked on Webby’s door. Lena, who was sitting on the floor with her legs stretched out, glanced up at her approach.

“She hasn’t opened the door for anything,” Lena explained.

“Come on, honey, you need to eat _something_ ,” Della entreated, walking toward them. “You don’t want to go hungry. It’s not good for a growing duckling.”

In an undertone, Della said to Bentina--” You have the keys, right?”

She nodded.

They heard footsteps on the ladder and then Webby thrust open the door. To Mrs. Beakley’s surprise, Webby blushed at Della. Mrs. Beakley bit the inside of her cheek. Lamentably, she didn’t know Webby well enough to discern exactly what that blush meant, but she had her suspicions. She’d been people-watching for a long time as a spy, after all.

“Is Mom okay?” Webby said though she hadn’t torn her gaze away from Della.

“Your mother is resting,” Mrs. Beakley said. “She’ll be fine.”

Tension flooded out of Webby and she sagged against the door.

“She’s sleeping now,” Mrs. Beakley added when Webby opened her beak again. She’d probably been about to ask if she could see her. She might not know Webby that well, but she knew children.

“Are the eggs…” Della frowned, not wanting to have this conversation in front of the children. 

“Yes,” Mrs. Beakley said, grimacing. She’d held a light underneath them to make sure, but she’d suspected it from the start. They couldn’t have been so lucky as to get the other kind. 

“Are they what?” Huey demanded, joining the group.

“Never you mind that,” Mrs. Beakley said and shook her head. “Now, all of you, run along.”

“I want to see Mom,” Webby insisted.

“Dear, she’s exhausted. Even if I could wake her up, I wouldn’t. She needs her rest. Children, please--run along.”

Reluctantly, the kids did, though Webby cast a few backward glances her way. Della waited until they’d walked out of earshot before walking up to Mrs. Beakley.

“This is gonna complicate things even worse, isn’t it?” Della said.

“And I haven’t the faintest notion of how to tell Webby _or_ Wren. It’s a conversation we’ll be able to hold off but not indefinitely.”

“I hear ya. Webby’s convinced this is somehow her fault. I tried talking to her about it, but I think she said whatever she thought I wanted to hear until I changed the subject.”

Mrs. Beakley hissed. Seeing as the children weren’t in the room, she muttered, “Bloody hell.”

“And Uncle Scrooge is still locked up in his office,” Della said, shaking her head. 

“Of course. How like him to avoid family drama.”

“That reminds me. What exactly happened after I took the _Spear_ and the boys went with Donald?”

Mrs. Beakley smiled humorlessly. “I’ll put a kettle on. This is a long story.”

After the kettle had boiled, they had drunk their tea, and Mrs. Beakley had finished, Della looked understandably outraged.

“I can’t believe Uncle Scrooge kept all of that to himself,” she fumed.

“Mr. McDuck is an intensely private person. He took your loss personally, both as a blow to his ego and because he loves you dearly. Don’t forget, he thought you were dead for over a decade, and Donald blamed him for your taking the rocketship. Not to mention building it in the first place.”

Della groaned, burying her face in her hands. “What. A. Mess.”

“In all senses of the word.”

Della straightened, staring at her. “You did put the eggs somewhere safe and secure, didn’t you?”

“Yes…” Mrs. Beakley said, frowning. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking we might want to check on the kids,” Della said, springing to her feet. “In case Webby has any wild ideas.”

Mrs. Beakley frowned. She didn’t think she would, but then again, she didn’t know her granddaughter that well anymore, did she?

* * *

Webby had found the eggs. According to a book she’d secreted out of FOWL’s library, she’d tested them to see if they were viable. They were. She stared at them with a sinking feeling in her chest. If she destroyed them, then her mother’s problems would go away, wouldn’t they? But...that was tantamount to murdering innocents. Granted, they weren’t much more than embryos at this point, and also, her secret heart, which Steelbeak and Black Heron hadn’t destroyed yet, was repulsed.

The cold logic they had imparted upon her demanded action. The part of her that adored her mother urged her to leave the eggs be, that attacking them would hurt her. Webby didn’t know. After all, her mother had killed her father, but she’d had good reason, hadn’t she? 

Webby groaned. Maybe she could keep a vigil over the eggs instead. Maybe something would happen without her nudging it and the problem would solve itself. She looked down at her knives, which could pierce the eggshells so easily. Her stomach lurched.

Her grandmother had dug an incubator out of nowhere. Webby wondered if it was her old one. She pressed her fingertips to the glass sides and exhaled shakily. She couldn’t do it. She knew she couldn’t. This felt like a test FOWL would pose to her and she’d have failed. The consequences of failing Steelbeak’s tests were legendary.

She didn’t know what to do. The glass grew too hot for her to keep her fingertips on it and she stepped back, heart thumping hard in her chest. The cold, logical solution was impossible. But inaction could be costly.

The longer she stood there, the more confused she grew. What to do, what to do…inaction was unlike her. She usually made up her mind within seconds. 

In a weird way, attacking the eggs would be like attacking her past self. Vulnerable, utterly defenseless, and completely dependent. 

No. She couldn’t do it. She sagged onto the floor and then forced herself back to her feet to lock the door. Certain no one could hear her, she let herself cry. She hadn’t been doing it much in her room, lest someone overhear her, but this was nowhere near anyone else. She ought to be safe.

As safe as she could consider herself here, anyway.

When she had let herself cry it all out, she became aware of someone on the other side of the door. Reaching up, she unlocked it to reveal Della standing there. Della glanced at the eggs, then at Webby, then behind her (presumably to Agent 22) before hugging Webby tightly. Webby clung to her and wished she could talk to her mother again.

How long would it take her to recover from this? And why did it feel like they were just lurching from one disaster to another?


	4. Chapter 4

Wren felt shaky when she woke up and, by instinct, glanced around for her eggs, which weren’t there. Groaning, she lifted her head from the pillow and saw Webby and Della standing nearby. Della grinned at her and Webby offered a weak smile. Wordlessly, Webby rushed forward and Wren hugged her tightly. She buried her face in her daughter’s hair and stroked her back. 

“The eggs are a couple of doors down, in an incubator,” Della explained. “Mrs. B wanted you to rest and recover.”

Wren held her daughter for a minute longer and then looked up at the other woman. 

“I’m sure laying two eggs took a lot out of you,” Della said. “Three took a lot out of me.”

Wren didn’t know how to subtly indicate that she wanted alone time with Webby, so she glanced at the door and then back again. Della’s gaze followed hers and then, brightening, she stepped back.

“Gotcha,” Della said. “I’ll tell the boys you’re okay and you can talk to Webby.”

Della left, closing the door behind her, and Wren indicated Webby should climb up onto the bed beside her. She pushed herself into a sitting position and smoothed back Webby’s bangs. Then, unable to help herself, she hugged her again. 

“I thought, after what happened with Steelbeak and Black Heron, I might have lost you forever,” Wren murmured.

“You told me why you did it.”

“Yes, but then, immediately after, I had two eggs,” Wren said, the words leaving a sour taste in her mouth. “I didn’t think you’d return to me of your own volition.”

“The eggs...they’re…”

“I’m afraid so, yes. Your siblings.”

Webby frowned, staring at the bedspread. In another universe, she might have loved to have siblings and not be an only child. Given the circumstances, though, Wren thought Webby would’ve preferred to remain by herself. Wren didn’t blame her. 

“You saw them,” Wren pressed.

“I was going to…” Webby gulped and shook her head. She was going to do what Steelbeak had trained her to do--access threats and eliminate them. In their current state, the eggs were the most vulnerable. It wouldn’t take much doing to destroy them. Wren’s heart clenched. She didn’t want her daughter to become a murderer, although life would be simpler without the eggs around.

“I know. Sssh,” Wren said and smoothed Webby’s hair back. They sat in silence for a minute, Wren overjoyed to be spending time with her daughter that wasn’t being monitored or interrupted by a FOWL goon. No one was going to take her baby away from her and she didn’t have to fear being drugged or attacked again. She felt free in a way she hadn’t for over a decade. 

She hugged her and kissed her cheek.

“You know I love you, right?” Wren said.

“I love you too…” Webby said. Wren sensed a “but” in there. 

“What’s the matter?” 

She thought she had an idea, however. Webby hadn’t hugged her back--she must be thinking about their escape from FOWL. She stroked her hair again. 

“I know you had no choice, but...you could’ve told me…” Webby said and puffed out her chest. “I can handle it.”

Wren smiled humorlessly. “No, baby. That wouldn’t have been fair to you. And, well...I wasn’t exactly cognizant of my surroundings for most of our captivity.”

That was a polite way of saying she’d been off her rocker thanks to Steelbeak’s drug cocktails. The hand not holding Webby curled into a fist and she gasped, remembering killing him on top of their last moment together. It’d been the only way to catch him off-guard and trick the Eggheads. It’d been her last resort. Unfortunately, her stomach roiled recalling it. It wasn’t like she could control her visceral reactions.

“Mom?” 

Webby had always been a perceptive child. Wren had always been proud of her for that. 

“It’s okay,” Wren lied. She wasn’t quite there anymore. Instead, she’d been transported back to that dark bedroom and the two types of warmth swamping her. Bile rose in her throat. The eggs were the direct result of Steelbeak’s behavior. Then again, so was Webby and she could hardly hold it against her. She loved her too much to punish her for something that wasn’t her fault.

Wren shook her head to force herself back to the now. 

“Why don’t you go play with the boys? Or Lena?” Wren suggested with a pained smile. 

After all, Webby had only had her mother in FOWL. Now she had kids near her own age to hang out with. Webby needed the socialization; before her kidnapping, her grandmother had kept Webby confined to the manor. True, the manor was huge, but that didn’t help her get used to other people. 

“I just need some time to myself,” Wren said, uncertain whether it was true or the worst possible thing for her. However, she couldn’t speak about what she’d seen and done with her daughter. Possibly with her mother, but she wasn’t sure of that either. She’d gone so long without a confidante she didn’t know how to open up about the horror that had been her life.

“Are you sure?” Webby pressed and Wren nodded. 

With obvious misgivings, Webby left and Wren sighed. She collapsed back against the pillows. At least now she knew her daughter wouldn’t attack the eggs. That was the important thing, wasn’t it? 

“Fuck,” Wren said and, then, seeing as no one was within earshot, snapped it again. “ _Fuck_!”

She expected her mother to be around the corner to berate her for her profanity. Thankfully, she remained alone. Wren balled the sheets in her hands and cursed again, albeit much softer, “Shit.”

She didn’t want the eggs, couldn’t get rid of them, couldn’t possibly put them up for adoption because it’d mean repudiating Webby too. All things told, she was stuck in an impossible situation. Mammals had the option of aborting. She supposed she could look into its equivalent for hatchlings, though she knew she would never have the heart for it. 

More pressing than the eggs, however, was dealing with the aftermath of her trauma. She’d been compartmentalizing it until she could handle it in a safe place. Seven years of trauma did not disappear into thin air, especially if left unaddressed. The last thing she’d done in Siberia especially haunted her and she hugged her knees. 

Steelbeak and Black Heron were her first kills. SHUSH had taught her not to kill unless it was absolutely necessary to the mission. Wren couldn’t say she was under SHUSH’s purview anymore; she’d been compromised. That didn’t mean she had let go of the rules, though--they’d kept her sane in a terrifying situation. 

It sucked that she’d needed to use _that_ as a means of escape, but an agent always used what was at his or her disposal. Regardless of the cost.

Wren buried her face in her hands and sighed. She wanted to pluck her feathers out, one by one, until the physical pain outweighed the emotional toll. Then she wanted to bang her head into the wall until she fell unconscious. No dreams, nothing to remind her of what she’d endured. A sedative sounded pleasant, but she couldn’t keep putting off facing her problems. 

Of everyone in the manor, the only person she might be able to confide in (if she discounted her mother) was Della Duck. Della might be distracting the kids; Webby had already developed a strange connection to her. If Wren didn’t know any better, she’d swear that Webby had a crush on her. There was nothing wrong with her crushing on another female, but the timing of it was odd. 

Honestly, she’d rather think about that than her problems. 

She was too weak to leave her bed yet. It’d take another day or so for her to recover. It’d taken about a day to recover from laying Webby’s egg, but that had only been one. This might take twice as long. She cursed again; if she’d done as much cursing in her youth, Mrs. Beakley would’ve washed her beak out with soap and water. Wren’s beak twitched toward a feeble smile. 

She feared sleep. It might bring back memories or it might be dreamless. She would lay bets on the former and hell, she didn’t need to be asleep to remember it. It was amazing how a male could function while half-asleep. Wren groaned and squeezed her eyes shut. It was also amazing how when she didn’t want to think about something, that seemed to be all her mind could consider. She balled a fist and hit herself in the head. Stupid. Think of something else. Stupid.

Maybe she’d need therapy after this. However, she couldn’t see herself trusting anyone enough to spill her innermost secrets. As for SHUSH’s counselors, she didn’t know how many were still alive after Steelbeak had swept through the ranks. She also had no use for SHUSH after they’d failed to rescue her and Webby.

But she didn’t see how she could function and be the mother Webby needed. That was why she’d left initially, before Webby’s hatching. To abandon her now was unthinkable. Webby would see it as nothing short of betrayal. Whatever poison Steelbeak had poured into Webby’s ears about Wren would also bear fruit, she feared. 

It might also be considered rank cowardice. At the same time, she didn’t know how much longer she could hold herself together. The drugs might’ve kept her pliable, but they’d also prevented her from dwelling on her situation too much. She’d been unable to think too deeply or consider her predicament. It wasn’t until she’d started flushing them down the toilet and faking submission that she’d fully comprehended the situation. And it wasn’t until Black Heron beat Webby senseless that Wren decided to act. 

She’d let too many horrible things happen to her daughter. If anything, Wren ought to leave simply because she was a bad mother. True, she’d gotten her out, but she’d also put her in the line of fire too. As an adult, Wren was the trained SHUSH agent. Webby was just a child. She shouldn’t have suffered for her mother’s mistakes. And her grandmother’s.

There were times when Wren had wished Agent 22 had disposed of Black Heron properly rather than leaving her as a loose end.

That was another thing. She harbored resentment toward her mother for not putting more effort into locating them. SHUSH was incompetent, no one was surprised, but she’d had faith in Agent 22. She hadn’t wanted to believe that she’d left her to languish, but all of the evidence pointed that way.

Wren let herself drift. She’d worry about this later after she’d sufficiently recovered. Nonetheless, her resentment toward Agent 22, concern over Webby, and self-hatred swirled into a potent mix in her dreams. Wren was not lucky enough to achieve a dreamless sleep.

* * *

Webby had a crush on her, which Della thought was cute. The duckling was following her throughout the house. Then again, Della was “safe”. She reminded Webby enough of her mother to feel secure around and didn’t have any unpleasant associations the way anyone else in the house, save Donald, would have. It was also obvious that, aside from Wren, Webby hadn’t been touched very much. She startled when someone brushed against her and flinched at any sudden movement. Della hadn’t forgotten Huey’s descriptions of her back, either.

Della wasn’t surprised Black Heron had abused her and that Steelbeak had permitted it. She knew enough about FOWL to know that it had earned its moniker twice over. Della also had no plans to foist Webby off on someone, but she wanted to talk to Wren. Wren looked like she needed a friend and while she knew that she loved Webby, a child was no substitute for adult conversation. Moreover, Wren couldn’t share with Webby the gruesome details.

Finally, Dewey managed to lure Webby away. Della had noticed that of the triplets, she’d shown an affinity for Dewey. Dewey bolstered her and they seemed to give off similar vibes. Or, rather, what would’ve been much more similar if Webby hadn’t been suppressing her vibrant personality in favor of avoiding notice. FOWL had really done a number on that poor kid.

Della sighed and prepared herself to talk to Wren. Wren’s door was ajar and she poked her head--the other female duck was asleep and she wouldn’t lie and say she was unhappy about it. Procrastinating had been a strong suit of hers and it had caused her no end of trouble as a child. Besides, she felt certain that Wren wanted to put off those discussions too. 

It’d have to come out sooner or later. She could only avoid it for so long.

* * *

Flashes. Steelbeak moving inside of her and her suppressing screams because this time, she’d initiated it. This time would be the last time. She was never letting him or anyone else touch her like that again.

He spilled into her and she had to clamp her beak tight as the sickening sensation flooded her nether region. She wielded the knife and stabbed and slashed. In the end, she’d look like a murder victim herself, but it didn’t matter. She would get rid of him, one way or another.

Flash. The eggs. Webby’s and her siblings. Her stepping away from her mother’s place for the last time and knowing that Webby would be in better hands with Agent 22 than her. It had torn at her to abandon her daughter, but she didn’t see any other options. Nothing good, anyway. Being near her would endanger them both.

Flash. Steelbeak kidnapping her and then “putting her in her place” after dropping her off at FOWL. Covered in unmentionable fluids, seething with rage, restrained with zip ties binding her wrists and ankles. Shot full of a drug cocktail that made her fuzzy and yet, the alarm had still seeped through when she realized where they’d placed her. Webby’s room. Despite all of her caution and worry, Webby was here too. 

Flash. Still unsteady, tending to Webby’s wounds and vowing she’d kill Black Heron. Webby was semi-conscious, slumped against her, and Wren cradled her. She was a bad mother. No good mother would have let this happen. Black Heron could’ve killed her and Wren wouldn’t have been able to stop her. Wren hated herself.

Flash. A cold, nearly meaningless day in the Siberian HQ. Except for one thing. Wren had realized that her mother and SHUSH were never coming to rescue her. If she was getting out, it was on her own or not at all.

Flash. Teeth gritted, shaking from withdrawal. The Eggheads had gotten her addicted. But she’d beat it. Cold sweat coating her feathers, sick to the pit of her stomach, but refusing to give in. This was for Webby. This was to compensate for being such a terrible mother. Maybe Webby would forgive her one day, but she’d never forgive herself.

There was nothing beyond her control, just things she hadn’t accepted as her fault yet.

Flash. The eggs. Oh, God, the eggs again. Wren saw herself smashing them to smithereens and walking out of the room; she’d be shaken but free. And Webby would understand. That really _was_ a pipe dream.

Flash. The look in Webby’s eyes when she’d told her about Steelbeak and Black Heron. Like Webby might never trust her again. The sudden pain lacerating her chest at the thought of losing her daughter, having her be here but loathing her. The fear that FOWL might have finally won after all of this time.

Flash. Webby with the boys and Lena. Webby letting her guard down enough to maybe make friends after all of this time. Webby being safe...safe...they were both safe…

Wren slid down into a dreamless sleep, finally capable of letting go of her worries for the time being. SHe and Webby were safe. And the kids could entertain each other. The boys would never hurt Webby. Never. They were good kids. Despite everything, Webby was too. 

* * *

Webby had never been allowed to explore the outside before. In Siberia, they’d been isolated and kept under lock and key. Before her kidnapping, which she barely remembered anyway, her grandmother had kept her close. The adults had given the okay for the kids to go out and she was so excited that she couldn’t conceal it. She bounced all over the place, her natural enthusiasm shining through. 

Lena had to force her to calm down before they got themselves thrown off the bus. Webby was practically humming; they’d made it to Funso’s without incident, aside from her attempting to pester everyone on the bus. Webby was bouncing on her heels as they walked up to the glorified playground. She’d never been to a playground either, so everything was new. 

“Are you sure this was a good idea?” Louie muttered to Dewey.

“She needs this,” Dewey said and wrapped an arm around Webby’s shoulders. “She’s one of us.”

Webby squealed, rushing into Funso’s. Lena rolled her eyes and went in after her, the boys bringing up the rear. She hardly knew what to explore first. Adrenaline overrode common sense and she gawked. She’d never seen so many kids around her age in one room before. If she wasn’t careful, she’d end up in overload. 

After all, she was a kid. Just like them. She rushed forward and Louie grabbed her by the collar of her shirt. Instinct overtook common sense and she rounded on him, arrested only by Lena’s magic. The contortion caused pain to ripple across her back, which restored her to her surroundings. She wasn’t completely healed from Black Heron’s last attack.

“I’ll be good,” Webby promised dully. She gritted her teeth against the pain.

“Are you okay?” Dewey asked and Lena and Louie let up. 

“Just a twinge,” Webby lied. She didn’t want to show weakness. Suddenly, all the kids nearby weren’t just children, but potential enemies. Vulnerability wasn’t an option. Never mind that the pain threatened to immobilize her. It’d pass. It always did.

“I saw what Black Heron did,” Huey said quietly. “It was pretty bad.”

“You saw…” Webby flinched. That meant he had leverage over her. She didn’t know what to do. Everyone had asserted that the boys didn’t pose a threat. Moreover, she’d seen for herself that they weren’t duplicitous. Lena, on the other hand, she wasn’t so sure about. But Lena hadn’t seen her back—Huey had. 

Her father would have chastised her for not coming to a conclusion quickly. Dewey hugged her and she caught herself hugging him back. 

“You’re here to hang out and have fun,” Dewey said. “Come on. Let’s go hang out.”

Webby smiled. “Okay.”

The storm inside of her passed. Though still full of misgivings, she let the triplets lead her deeper into Funso’s. 


	5. Chapter 5

Wren awoke to discover Della waiting for her in a chair beside her bed. Perplexed, Wren glanced back and forth to determine whether any of the kids were there. 

“They went out,” Della explained. “They’re at Funso’s. They won’t be back for a while...I hope. I thought you might want to talk.”

“About...right. Yeah.”

Wren looked down, suddenly ashamed. Della took her hands and squeezed. Even while attempting to be calm and collected, the woman’s naturally effervescent personality materialized. It reminded Wren of Webby, except Webby had succeeded in suppressing most of her natural inclinations. It was sad. She hated what Steelbeak and Black Heron had done to her beautiful baby.

What Wren had permitted to happen. She was a bad mother. 

“You were gone for ten years…” Wren said, groping her way toward the conversation and not wanting to start with herself. 

“Stuck on the moon, yeah,” Della said, wincing. “I spent every day of that trying to get back to my kids.”

Wren smiled weakly. “You’re a good mother.”

Della faltered. She disagreed but didn’t know how to articulate that without offending Wren. Wren understood. If anything, Della’s unwillingness to expand on that gave her the opening that she craved. Wren gnawed the inside of her cheek. 

“You’re a better mother than I am.”

“Oh, no, don’t say that. You did the best you could in a horrible situation. You protected Webby, and you showed her love. You went through hell and back. No one could fault you for what happened,” she soothed. 

“I let Black Heron brutalize her,” Wren said, now no longer looking at her. “I knew that Steelbeak was warping her, and I didn’t stop him.”

“The odds were against you. If you had tried to put a stop to it in front of his Eggheads, you would’ve ended up dead. You played the long game, and it paid off.”

She scoffed. “I was sedated for almost seven years. I still should’ve done something. I should’ve said something. Should have, I don’t know, been better. Webby should hate me.”

“Why? You rescued her,” Della said gently and cupped the other woman’s cheeks in her hands. “You saved both of you, and you brought her here, to the best possible place in the world for the two of you. You’re safe, you’re protected, and you’re loved. You can’t let the ‘what-ifs’ drag you down. If you do that, you’ll never have a moment’s peace. I should know.”

“She should hate me,” she burst out.

“You’re only saying that because you’re angry at yourself,” Della said and smoothed Wren’s hair back. “Kids don’t hate that easily, not like that. You were the only person there who showed her unconditional love. She’s not going to hate you.”

Wren’s beak twitched. “She has a crush on you.”

“I know. It’s cute, isn’t it?” Della said and smiled. “Although she’s better off with one of the boys if it comes to that. She wants security and someone safe. I remind her of you, except I’m not related to her. And I’d never push her away, which makes me ‘safe.’”

Wren swallowed past a hard lump in her throat. “I still think I ruined her life.”

“You. Saved. Her. You couldn’t have done any better, and even if you could, it doesn’t matter now. What matters now is moving forward and putting your best into everything you do for her. I’ve only been back a few months, and raising kids is not easy. Being a mom sucks sometimes. But, hey, I’ve got your back. And so does everyone here. Don’t sweat the small stuff.”

Della smoothed her hair back, and Wren’s heart skipped a beat. She was almost beginning to see how Webby had developed a crush on the older female. She was gentle, enthusiastic, and caring, and, oh, crap, Wren thought she might be developing a small crush on her too. It’d been years since she’d crushed on anyone.

“You need a day out, too,” Della decided. “Er, after you’re recovered. Having multiple eggs takes a lot out of you.”

Wren shared a wry look with Della. “Don’t I know it.”

“Agent 22 probably wants to talk to you too.”

Wren’s smile faded. Della noticed; the mischievous look vanished too. 

“Don’t be too hard on her. She’s been looking for you two for years.”

“Not hard enough,” Wren spat, surprising herself with her vehemence. “It took killing Steelbeak and Black Heron to escape. It took _years_ of abuse, and I had to escape. She didn’t rescue me. I rescued myself and Webby. Me. Alone.”

If Della was taken aback by this proclamation, she didn’t show it. She placed a warm hand on Wren’s shoulder.

“I know how you feel there too. I spent years hoping Uncle Scrooge was going to find me and bring me home. I had to rescue myself too. Sometimes, you can’t wait around for someone to rescue you. Sometimes, you just gotta do it yourself.”

Wren scowled. She didn’t see how being stranded on the moon and being someone’s puppet for seven years was equivalent. Then again, measuring misery and trying to quantify it was a sure way to gain enemies. She opened her beak and then shut it. She didn’t need to alienate Della. Heaven knew she’d probably had that enough. 

Della smoothed her hair back again, and Wren’s beak twitched toward a faint smile.

“That’s better. I know I didn’t have it as rough as you--I know what you didn’t tell the kids, too. That’s why I’m here. If you need to talk, I’d be happy to lend an ear. Okay, maybe ‘happy’ is the wrong word, but you know what I mean.”

Wren smiled back. “I know what you mean.”

“Tell you what. We can swap war stories. I can go first if you want.”

Wren shook her head. She wasn’t quite ready to divulge that sort of information yet. Give it some time, and maybe she’d feel comfortable and removed from it. Right now, it all felt too close and personal. The pain was immediate and unyielding. Della was intuitive (the way Webby was) and hugged her. Sometimes, no words were necessary.

“So...who’s Penumbra?” Wren asked, and Della pulled back. To Wren’s surprise, the other woman blushed.

“Oh, Penny,” she said. “She’s a moonlander. You know, from the moon.”

In sotto voce, she added, “She thinks the moon is a planet.”

Wren gaped.

“I’m gonna have to tell you the whole story, I see. Spoiler alert--Penny’s my girlfriend. Sort of. She doesn’t like using that term, and she doesn’t like showing affection in public, but…” Della grinned. “We’re getting there.”

So, with an expansive grin, Della leaped to her feet and acted out her devastating moon crash, cutting off her own leg to survive, attempting to remake the ship, encountering the moonlanders, and everything else that Wren might have wanted to know. Wren was captivated by Della’s spirit and amazed at her resilience. She supposed she was resilient, but she didn’t think of herself the same way she saw other people. Steelbeak and FOWL had battered her self-esteem something fierce.

“So...that’s how Penumbra ended up here,” Della finished with a flourish, and Wren applauded. Della blushed. 

“Oh, really, you didn’t have to. Thanks, though.”

“I...it all started with a soiree that I wasn’t technically invited to and shouldn’t have been at in the first place,” Wren began haltingly. “I wanted to prove I was as capable as Agent 22 in handling a crisis and that I could shake Steelbeak down for information. I wanted to demonstrate my new training and prowess.

“Steelbeak saw me coming a mile away.”

Wren lowered her head and shuddered. Della squeezed her shoulder again.

“Hey. You don’t have to keep going if you don’t want to,” she soothed. 

“I need to,” Wren said. It felt like poison, and she’d been holding onto it for far too long. She hadn’t even told her mother this. Perhaps her mother had figured out the beginning and how Steelbeak had seduced her, but not the rest. Wren swallowed past a lump in her throat.

“I have to say it. It has to come out.”

“If you’re sure...I’m not pushing you.”

Wren nodded, though she’d ceased seeing Della. She saw the night in question and the formal attire that the FOWL agents were wearing. Steelbeak had looked suave, sophisticated, and, though the thought made her nauseated now, attractive as all hell. She’d always been a sucker for arrogance, though she’d thought she had his number. It turned out that he’d had hers.

In a quavering voice, Wren told her how Steelbeak had slipped her a mickey and how she didn’t remember what had come after, only how she’d awoken in his bed with her clothes on the other side of the room. Steelbeak had been nowhere visible, and, at the time, she’d thought it was a blessing. She hadn’t realized that Steelbeak had kept tabs on her from that night onward. 

When she realized she was gravid, she’d set plans in motion to let her mother raise Webby in the hopes that she’d draw off Steelbeak’s attention. Steelbeak loathed children. Therefore, he should have no interest in Webbigail. Plus, she’d be living in McDuck Manor. That had to be one of the best-fortified places in the world. Steelbeak and FOWL weren’t breaking in there any time soon.

The next part, she knew secondhand from what Webby had told her.

Once a year, on Scrooge’s birthday, he threw a temper tantrum, and they left rather than deal with him. This time, they had gone to the zoo, and Webby had darted ahead of her grandmother. That had been the opening the Eggheads had been waiting for. They’d captured Webby and then, a day later, kidnapped Wren too. Wren had stepped outside of her apartment in New Quackmore to discover Eggheads on her doorstep. They’d sedated her, not for the last time, and dragged her to Siberia. 

Wren’s throat closed up, thinking about how Steelbeak had drugged her and forced her to conceive another heir. It hadn’t worked for years and years, and Wren had foolishly thought herself sterile. She had entertained the notion that she might be safe, at least for the time being. She’d been horribly wrong.

“If you want to stop there, it’s okay,” Della said, speaking into the silence that had fallen after Wren’s throat had constricted. Wren nodded.

“Why don’t you get some sleep? I’m sure you’re exhausted, both from recounting that and from laying those eggs,” Della said and hugged her. “Just call out--I’ll be around. Hopefully not rebuilding the _Cloudslayer_ because a certain someone screwed it up again.

“Later!”

Wren smiled, but as soon as Della was gone, she knew that sleep was out of the cards. She would be haunted by what she hadn’t told her. Instead, she stared up at the ceiling. She had no cell phone--Steelbeak wouldn’t have trusted her with one anyway. Without company, without the possibility of someone drugging her, she was as alone as she’d been in years. Not that she expected it to last--her mother was bound to come in and start asking questions. 

Let her. That didn’t mean Wren was inclined to give her any answers. She reluctantly agreed with Della’s assessment that sometimes, you needed to be the queen of your fate. That didn’t mean she didn’t still resent what she saw as her mother having abandoned them when they had needed her to support them the most.

Brooding, Wren glared at the ceiling. Maybe her mother was too chicken shit to come in here and talk to her. That’d be a nice change of pace. 

She hoped Webby was having a good time. Her brooding vanished when she thought about Webby, how she adored that child. She really wished Webby was happy. Heaven knew that the girl deserved it.

* * *

She was foolish, procrastinating on seeing her. Therefore, after she’d finished cleaning the foyer and dusting things that hadn’t needed to be dusted, she entered Wren’s room. She discovered her daughter awake and staring at the ceiling.

“Mother.”

Wren’s tone could’ve flash-frozen everything. Mrs. Beakley swallowed hard. This was precisely the reason she’d been avoiding her. She knew she had a lot to answer for.

“Wren,” Mrs. Beakley said. She didn’t know how to start this. The enormity of the task suddenly seemed beyond daunting and somewhere in the impossible range. She sat beside her daughter, and Wren moved away. Mrs. Beakley ignored her heart clenching at her daughter, actively avoiding her. She wouldn’t deny how much it hurt.

“I’d rather have Della back,” Wren said cuttingly.

“We have to talk, you and I.”

“About what? About how you abandoned me for seven years? If you didn’t want to rescue me, you could have at least found Webby and brought her out of that hellhole.”

“We would have brought both of you out if we could find you.”

“Don’t give me that,” Wren snapped. “You’re employed by the richest duck in the world. You could have found me if you really wanted to.”

“I assure you, without anything to go on, it was impossible to locate you. We needed a lead of some sort, in the very least.”

“Excuses,” Wren said and stared at the bed. “So, you’re here to make amends? Pretend the last seven years didn’t happen?”

“No, I’m not here to pretend you didn’t suffer.” Mrs. Beakley smoothed back her daughter’s hair and then hugged her. She hadn’t done nearly enough hugging years ago, and she regretted it. Wren’s arms remained at her sides; she wasn’t forgiven, no matter how impossible it would have been to track them down.

“Then why _are_ you here, Mother? What on earth do you have to say that you think I’d want to hear?”

“I wanted to talk to you. To be with you. I know FOWL has filled your head with nonsense about SHUSH--” 

“Nonsense that makes perfect sense to me,” she scoffed. “SHUSH is worthless. Agent 22 never cared about Webby or me. You were comfortable here. Maybe you were even happy that your troublesome daughter was gone.”

Aghast, she hugged her tighter. Tears pricked her eyes, though she did her utmost to conceal them. “I never forgot where you were, not for a second. It haunted me for almost a decade. I wanted to tear the Earth apart to find you, just like Mr. McDuck tried to tear apart the cosmos to find Della.”

Wren frowned. Doubtless, she was thinking of Lunaris blocking Della’s transmissions to Earth. Though she still didn’t hug her back, the tension ebbed out of her body. She turned to regard her mother, and her beak quivered as if she were suppressing tears too.

“All right, Mother. All right. Let’s say I believe you. That doesn’t change what happened.”

“No, it doesn’t,” she agreed, and her heart was heavy. “I wish that it did.”

“I don’t want the eggs,” Wren said and then blinked. Apparently, that hadn’t been what she’d intended to say. “I want to put them up for adoption. Or _something_. Webby, I can handle. But I don’t want her siblings.”

Wren shifted, uncomfortable. “I know mammals can abort their young before they’re born, especially if they’re the products of rape. But I can’t do that. Webby would think I’d have wanted to do it to her…”

“Why don’t you talk to Webby about it before you make up her mind for her?” her mother suggested. “Also, the situation is not quite the same. You were Steelbeak’s prisoner for years after you laid those two eggs. You thought you were giving Webby a better life by bringing her here and by leaving her in my custody.”

“And look how well that turned out,” Wren said, a bitter twist to her beak.

“You couldn’t help what happened,” Mrs. Beakley said and smoothed her hair back again. Wren nodded weakly and then leaned against her. Her next breath was a sob, and then, though she tried to suppress it, tears sprang to her eyes. Her arms went about her; she’d been too strong for too long. She’d probably concealed how much pain she’d endured for Webby’s sake. 

Wren sobbed, chest heaving, and clung to her. 

“Sssh, sssh. You’re safe now. It’s all over.”

“Is it, though?” Wren asked, not moving her head from her mother’s neck. “Is it really?”

“Yes,” Mrs. Beakley replied. She would move heaven and earth if she had to, to make it so. Her poor child had suffered enough. 

“You couldn’t...talk to her for me, could you?”

“After everything Steelbeak and Black Heron have told her, I doubt she trusts me.”

She didn’t add that Wren barely trusted her, and Mrs. Beakley had raised her. To Webby, Agent 22 would be a notorious figure and a stranger. Wren huffed but didn’t argue. She was still crying and clung to her mother like a small child. Mrs. Beakley didn’t mind. She would endure far worse just to be close to her again. 

Lifting her head, she kissed her on the forehead. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she murmured. “I do hope Webby’s all right…”

“I’m sure she’s fine.”

Mrs. Beakley’s beak quirked. Webby might be fine, but she wasn’t sure that she hadn’t terrified the other kids in there. From what little Bentina had seen of her granddaughter, she was a force to be reckoned with. Maybe the other kids could calm her down, but she wouldn’t put money on it. Not yet. Webby only appeared to trust Wren and Della right now. Dewey was a slight possibility, but he wasn’t strong enough to offset her. 

Bentina frowned. Maybe it would all sort itself out before they needed to intervene. She could only hope.

* * *

Webby was trying to reconcile the idea that these kids meant her no harm because there were so many of them. She was taken aback. Louie guided her around, hand around her waist, and she didn’t say anything or stop him. She was too stunned to be surprised at the physical contact. 

“Green, you’re scaring her,” Lena commented.

“She seems okay to me,” Dewey said.

Lena rolled her eyes. “Trust me, blue. She’s overwhelmed.”

Webby opened her beak to contradict her, but she had nothing to say. Trembling, she let Louie point out noteworthy areas and then settle her at a table. She didn’t know why this frightened her. After all, these kids didn’t pose a significant threat. They’d probably never been in a serious fight in their lives. They were cream puffs.

She could totally handle them. But that wasn’t it. Deep down, she worried that they might be better than her. She was an imposter, pretending to be a child when she wasn’t anymore. Lena settled beside her, and Webby saw the same belief reflected in her eyes. Oddly, it calmed her down to know that she wasn’t alone.

“So, pink, how do you like it on the outside?” Lena teased, drinking the ‘water’ (a.k.a. fruit punch) that Louie had scored for them.

“I don’t know yet,” she said. She was worried about her mother, and her stomach was in knots as a result. Those eggs haunted her, along with what she might have done to them, what she _could_ do versus what she _would_ do. She was capable of great cruelty, she knew, even if she’d never demonstrated it. After all, Steelbeak and Black Heron had trained her in it.

“This isn’t way better than anything you’ve ever experienced in FOWL?” Dewey asked, shocked and looking a little hurt. 

Webby didn’t know what to do or say. She scanned the area and reached for her daggers, which she hadn’t been allowed to bring with her. No matter. There were plenty of things here that could be used as a weapon. 

“Relax,” Huey advised. “Deep breaths. You can do this.”

“And if you can’t, better let us know now before things really hit the fan,” Louie said, and Huey elbowed him hard in the ribs. 

“What? I’d like to know,” Louie added.

Webby swallowed hard. “I’ll be okay.”

She didn’t know if it was true or not, but she had to be coping better than her mom right now.

* * *

Wren needed to talk to Webby. She was not looking forward to that either. Therefore, because it was available to her and because she remained exhausted after delivering two eggs, she sank back into sleep. Unfortunately, her sleep was far from restful. The alternative might have been better. 


	6. Chapter 6

Wren found herself planning and discarding ideas on how to approach her daughter. She had managed to get out of bed, though the effort had nearly bowled her over, and she had visited the eggs. The short trip nonetheless fatigued her and she had returned shortly to her bedroom. She was trying to figure out how it had all gone so wrong. Steelbeak hadn’t been like this originally, had he? Something about Black Heron…

Not that it mattered. Both of them were dead and gone. Her head throbbed and she groaned, flopping back onto the bed. Steelbeak and Black Heron were small fish compared to the big fish at HQ, the ones she’d never met. The shadowy figures looming on Steelbeak’s TV were the real culprits. Her heart thudded. As far as she knew, the head honchos had let Steelbeak keep his little pet as long as he behaved. However, Wren’s behavior wouldn’t go unnoticed. 

FOWL could hunt her down, as well as Webby, and kill them both. Or they could try to turn Webby against her mother and steal her away. She didn’t see them trying to snag Wren, because Wren was a lost cause. No one wanted a compromised agent, particularly one that they couldn’t trust to do anything but save her own skin. While FOWL was very much about protecting oneself, loyalty was expected. No loyalty meant being fed to six different woodchippers while still alive. Wren shuddered, recalling Steelbeak describing what had happened to his predecessor.

She massaged her temples. While she’d warned her mother, who had doubtlessly told Scrooge McDuck the whole situation, including whatever Wren had forgotten, that didn’t mean Scrooge was ready to go toe to toe with FOWL. FOWL had been operating under his beak the whole time and he hadn’t been able to track down Agent 22’s family for almost a decade. Wren’s confidence in his abilities was virtually non-existent, although she had faith in his business acumen, for whatever good that did.

Webby knocked before she entered, which sent pain skittering across her head. Wren groaned and gestured for her to join her on the bed. Webby did so, looking around curiously. Wren had no idea what it was she hoped to discover, but she gave up soon after. Wren’s beak quirked ironically. Did she perhaps think she’d find a miraculous solution to this problem? A magic wand to erase the past? Oh, but Wren didn’t want to erase Webby, just Steelbeak getting his mitts on her. 

They sat in silence for a minute while Wren waited for the world to stop spinning.

When it had, she turned to her and cleared her throat. She was stalling, but she was afraid of Webby’s response. It had haunted her all day.

Webby had learned the value of patience, albeit not in the way that Wren would have liked. She watched her mother like a predator views its prey and it chilled her. Yes, she’d learned how to do that to survive in FOWL HQ, but she didn’t like what Steelbeak and Black Heron had molded her into. Della had told her that there was no point in castigating herself for bad past decisions, but she was positive that the other woman didn’t take her own advice.

“We need to talk about the eggs,” Wren said and the words fell into the silence like a lead balloon. She straightened up on the bed to sit upright so she could have a better view. It made her dizzy for a second and she regretted having checked on the eggs at all. It wasn’t like they needed anything at this point. They were weeks away from hatching, if not months. Wren found her memories regarding Webby’s hatching were fuzzy.

“What about them?” Webby said stiffly. Ice had crept into her body language and leaked into her tone. Wren winced.

“I’ve been thinking about what to do with them,” Wren said carefully. 

“What is there to do?” Webby said and the venom in her tone took Wren aback. She sounded more like Black Heron than herself. Wren gritted her teeth. Webby’s recalcitrance would make this more difficult, but not impossible. Wren was determined to see her way through this. 

“I thought perhaps...if you were amenable to it…” She was dithering. Swallowing past a lump in her throat, she said, “We could put them up for adoption.”

Webby went stock still. “You didn’t put me up for adoption.”

“Well, no, but your arrival wasn’t presaged by years upon years of abuse.”

Webby fell silent, mulling it over. Wren recalled that Della had found the duckling in the room with the eggs and had probably had dark thoughts regarding them. She seemed to be suppressing them now, or, at least, not revealing them to her out of courtesy. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what Webby was thinking, however. Destroying the eggs would solve problems, yes, but it didn’t sit well with her at all. They were innocent.

“There’s something else,” Webby said into the silence.

“Hmm?” 

“There’s a compound that scientists use to abort chicken eggs,” Webby said. She wasn’t looking at her. “It’s not like they’re that far along.”

“You’re afraid I’ll change my mind after they hatch, aren’t you?” Wren said gently.

Webby’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t say anything. This, somehow, was worse. Wren’s gut churned and she could see the eggs in her mind’s eye. She was familiar with the process Webby had mentioned. It was partly how Steelbeak had prevented having too many bastard children. The thought made her stomach threaten to revolt.

“I’m not going to change my mind,” Wren promised.

“You could,” Webby said, stubborn. Perhaps this was a topic best shelved and dealt with later when Webby was less mulish. As to when that could be, Wren didn’t have the slightest idea. Like Della, Wren liked to procrastinate on problems. It had led to unpleasantness in her life.

Like failing to read Steelbeak’s dossier completely. Wren groaned. That hadn’t come back to bite her in the tail feathers or anything.

“What?” 

“Nothing, just thinking about my tragically short SHUSH career,” Wren said and shook her head. “It’s not important right now.”

“You would really get rid of them, though?”

“I would. I don’t want them. I want you and I will always want you, but this is a different matter altogether.”

Not to mention she was pretty sure that it might’ve been when she’d killed Steelbeak and they’d had sex the final time that she’d conceived the eggs. Laughter burned at her throat. The one time she’d had consensual sex with him and she’d gotten pregnant, not any of those other countless times. Did she have shitty luck or what?

Webby lapsed into silence. She didn’t know what she was thinking about and the young duckling didn’t see fit to explain it to her. Of late, Webby had been keeping her own counsel, which troubled Wren greatly. It made her wonder just what she hadn’t been privy to in terms of Steelbeak’s grooming. Steelbeak could be very persuasive when he wasn’t being outright forceful. She ought to know. For the first few months after her kidnapping, he’d tried to coax her into having relations with him instead of just drugging her. Then, of course, he’d learned that she was only pliable under the influence and their relationship, such as it was, had deteriorated from there.

“Okay,” Webby said at last, after what felt like five minutes had passed. Yet when she said that, Wren got a distinct impression that Webby still didn’t trust her. Wren grimaced. 

“I promise, we’ll be a family again and no one will separate us,” Wren said. “Do you understand?”

Webby nodded. She looked awkward like she wanted to leave, and exhaustion swamped Wren. 

“You can go hang out with the boys again if you want,” she suggested and Webby nodded, kissed her on the cheek, and then left. Wren heaved a relieved sigh once she was out of earshot. This was not going to be easy, regardless of which path she chose. Webby was almost a teenager, after all, and Steelbeak and Black Heron had had a heavy influence during her formative years. 

Wren wanted to sleep now that she was alone again, but she found sleep elusive and ultimately, when it came, unsatisfying.

* * *

She was watching him avidly, something Dewey found a little unnerving. According to Della, Webby wasn’t used to much social interaction beyond the FOWL villains and her mother. She probably hadn’t even seen kids since she’d been kidnapped at age five, excepting their trip to Funso’s. If he had to describe her in one word right now, it’d be “intense”. 

Then again, he had a feeling that “intense” usually described her, regardless of who surrounded her. It was intimidating, but at the same time, it was really attractive. He hadn’t mentioned it to his brothers yet, because he was pretty sure they’d think he was nuts.

But she had a vibrancy that he couldn’t deny. He didn’t think she knew about it, but it compelled him toward her. They had a connection, he just knew it. And Dewey was used to operating on his gut instinct. 

“So...wanna see Dewey Dew-Night again?” Dewey asked, bouncing in his seat. “I could interview you.”

“Uh...who watches that show?” she asked, looking uneasy. 

“No one,” Louie scoffed and went back to staring at his phone. “He just likes to believe he has an audience.”

“Mom watches!” Dewey said defensively. 

“She feels obligated to,” Huey said, not looking up from his book. He was sitting on the couch at the opposite end of Louie. “She’s usually doing something else while it’s on.”

Dewey pouted. “I’m gonna ask her and you’ll see. She’s always paying attention to me.”

He rounded on Webby. “Anyway, wanna be interviewed?”

“About what?” she asked, wary, but she had to know what he meant. 

“Your time in FOWL. What it was like growing up with Black Heron and Steelbeak. I bet our viewers would love to see it,” Dewey said.

“View _er_ ,” Huey corrected. 

“Whatever,” Dewey said. He turned to Webby. “Come on. It’ll be fun.”

Webby’s gaze met his for a moment and then she shook her head. “I’m not really in the mood to talk.”

“Oh.” 

He couldn’t deny that he was disappointed. It would’ve been a great interview. However, Webby had shut down again, blocking him out, and that hurt more than he’d expected. He barely knew her and yet, he felt compelled to learn more. She wasn’t as secretive as her mom appeared to be--Della wouldn’t answer any questions regarding Wren--but she also wasn’t talkative. Dewey knew that this wasn’t like her, even if he couldn’t say how he knew.

“What do you wanna do instead?” he asked and she shrugged.

“I’m going to my room,” she said in a tone that indicated that she didn’t want to be followed. Hurt, he glanced at his siblings. Louie shrugged, glancing back briefly before burying his face in his phone again. Huey frowned.

“Are you sure that so much alone time is good for you?” he asked.

“I never had alone time in FOWL,” she said in a tone that brooked no arguments. Then, without another word, she headed for the door. Dewey sprang to his feet too and touched her shoulder. She flinched and he ached for her. Surprising himself, he hugged her tightly. 

“Hey,” Dewey said quietly. “We’re here for you.”

“You can’t bottle all of that up,” Huey said, joining them at the doorway. “It’s not healthy.”

Webby sighed. “I know...but Mom…”

“What about your mom?” Dewey asked. Reluctantly, Webby moved away from the doorway and back into the living room. She sat on the couch and hugged her knees to her chest. Dewey sat beside her and Huey sat on her other side. For a minute, no one spoke. Louie looked up from his cell phone; Webby didn’t meet anyone’s gaze.

“She wants to give the eggs up for adoption,” Webby admitted in a small voice.

“That’s...a bad thing?” Dewey said, faltering.

“She didn’t give _me_ up for adoption,” she pointed out. Her beak quivered and she swallowed hard. “I mean, I know why she doesn’t want them, but…”

“But you feel like it means that she doesn’t want you either,” Huey completed and Webby nodded.

“She told me that she does,” she said. “She told me there’s a difference. And I understand, but…”

“It’s not something you can understand emotionally, only logically,” Huey said and again, Webby nodded. 

“You guys are lucky,” she murmured. “You were wanted and expected.”

“I don’t know about ‘expected’…” Dewey said. “Mom hasn’t told us a lot about how we came to be. Or even who our dad is.”

“I wish I didn’t know who my dad was,” she muttered and Dewey took her hand. Huey took her other hand and both boys squeezed. She bit the inside of her cheek and turned away; tears shimmered in her eyes. Dewey didn’t know whether to be alarmed that she was about to cry or stunned that she trusted them enough to let them see it.

“We’re here for you, whatever happens,” Huey said. “I promise--we’re not going to let anything bad happen to you.”

Webby laughed bitterly and then pulled her hands away. A mask came over her features and she scrubbed at her eyes until she was no longer crying. Dewey didn’t know what Huey had said that had prompted this.

“What about FOWL High Command?” she said quietly. “You don’t know what they’re capable of. They killed my father’s predecessor by feeding him into six different wood chippers at once.”

“At once?” Louie said, alarmed and a little green about the gills. “Shit.”

“Language, Llewellyn,” Huey reprimanded.

“It doesn’t bother me,” Webby said. “I’ve heard worse.”

“And something tells me that they’re not going to be happy about Mom getting rid of Steelbeak’s heirs,” she said, hugging herself tightly again. “Not at all.”

* * *

Bradford watched Steelbeak recuperating in the FOWL underground labs. For Black Heron, he could do nothing--Wren had snapped her neck. Steelbeak, however, had almost bled out by the time they’d found him. He remained weak, requiring many blood transfusions, and for a crime of passion, Wren had done a lot of damage. Fortunately, Steelbeak ought to make a full recovery.

That was more than Bradford could say for Wren. He knew all about the eggs, too. He didn’t know her plans for them, as his cameras didn’t extend into her bedroom (none of the McDuck Manor cameras did), but he knew that she wasn’t going to be allowed to follow through with them. Wren had to be punished for thinking that she could take out Steelbeak without consequences.

It was also clear that Wren didn’t deserve custody of Webby. After FOWL disposed of her mother, they would seize Webby and remove the slivers of goodness Wren had instilled. They would break her, one way or another. And make no mistake--Webby needed to be broken. Wren had encouraged the wrong traits, including compassion and love. 

Bradford knew that Webby had been spending time with the Duck brats too, which troubled him. He didn’t want them rubbing off on her. 

Nonetheless, he couldn’t make an open move against the Ducks, either, not without tipping his hand. First, he would clean up the mess Wren had left and then dispose of her. Then he would seize Webby for Steelbeak. Then, once Steelbeak had sufficiently recovered and taken his place back, he would take the eggs. 

He didn’t know if he wanted them, to be honest. He would have been happy smashing them to pieces. After all, Steelbeak didn’t need more brats underfoot and FOWL hated children in general, despite having a hideout underneath Funso’s. However, Bradford supposed that he could let Steelbeak decide. It was his prerogative, as they were his offspring.

Once all of that was settled, he could go back to having things as they were with all of the loose ends neatly tied up. Wren had really thrown a wrench into their operations. Wretched SHUSH agent. She had to pay for what she’d done...and Webby had to see it happen. Webby had to know the consequences too. Perhaps that would be enough to erode her goodness; Bradford didn’t care if she hated FOWL, so long as she knew her place. 

He shook his head. Steelbeak was rousing. 

“Fucking A...why am I so weak?” Steelbeak said. He was hooked up to all matter of contraptions and when he pushed his feathers back, his hand shook. His arm dropped back at his side. 

“You don’t remember?” Bradford said. “I warned you about keeping a tame SHUSH agent.”

“Wren? Wren did this to me?” Steelbeak said. 

“You should have killed her after she laid Webby’s egg. You have no one to blame but yourself,” he snapped. “But you have a chance to fix this. She’s laid two more eggs.”

“Wren?”

“Who else?” Bradford snapped. Steelbeak’s brain was scrambled thanks to the painkillers he was on, but Bradford had little patience for it and him right now.

“You also got Black Heron killed,” Bradford continued, glowering. “Wren snapped her neck and then she and Webby ran to McDuck Manor.”

“Fuck,” Steelbeak said. “She’s got my girl?”

“When the time is right, you know what to do. Kill Wren,” he snapped. “I’m sick of cleaning up your messes, Steelbeak. Do it right.”

The vainglorious rooster was silent for a minute. He seemed to be weighing everything the vulture had said. Then his eyes glittered with malice.

“I want Webby back. What did you want me to do?”

He had to realize how rare it was that a FOWL High Command officer would pay him a visit in person. He hoped he appreciated the honor.

“You’re finally listening,” Bradford said, rolling his eyes. “Fine. Listen well, now.”

And he proceeded to detail his plans for Steelbeak’s “family." 


	7. Chapter 7

Wren stared at the eggs and hugged herself. She told herself that she could imagine giving them away. Perhaps she ought to offer them to the adoption service now—then she wouldn’t have to worry about incubating them and changing her mind. After all, Webby would surely be at peace if she did that. Wren told herself that this would change nothing between them. The dynamic would remain the same.

She hugged herself tighter. She wasn’t a bad mother. After all, she’d rescued herself and Webby, hadn’t she? (After enduring years of abuse…) This might be a fresh chance, a chance to prove that she could be a decent mother without FOWL looming over her. (But would Webby see that as a betrayal?) 

This should be a one-and-done deal. If that was the case, then why was she still faltering? Why had she picked out names, for God’s sake? You only need to name something if you plan on calling it to you and keeping it. It. Them. 

Fuck. Her hands shook and she exhaled jaggedly. She had to admit, the idea of a fresh start was very appealing. Despite what Webby told her, she knew that she’d done wrong by her. These ducklings wouldn’t know any better and wouldn’t have seen her struggle. They wouldn’t know her as Steelbeak’s pawn. His little toy, to be discarded at will. They would offer her unconditional love.

Webby offered her unconditional love too, yet Wren couldn’t help but see the strings attached. For example, if she didn’t abandon (no, not abandon, damn it) the twins...the _eggs_ …

Wren groaned, sliding to the floor and burying her head in her hands. She was starting to see the eggs as hatchlings, as ducklings. In other words, she was envisioning their future, which meant she’d subconsciously pictured herself in it. Well, fuck her life. Webby would flip an absolute shit and Wren almost couldn’t blame her.

She needed to talk this out with someone; it hadn’t been until she reached McDuck Manor and had the option of confiding in someone that she realized how much she’d missed it. She could ask Della, she supposed, although the triplets hadn’t come about as a result of violence. As for her mother, Wren was the result of a fling and was the only child her mother had ever had. Wren had not so much as heard a whisper of siblings.

Talking it over with Webby would be the worst possible idea. Still, how the hell had she started to justify keeping the eggs? (But it wasn’t their fault that they were young, helpless, and derived from rape…) If she gave them up for adoption, someone might be able to love them better, because they hadn’t been forced to conceive and then carry them. The children would be wanted.

But who was to say that she didn’t want these children? Other than what she’d already said to Webby, that was. Wren’s stomach clenched and she felt ill. Hugging her knees now, she rested her chin on them and sighed. If she gave up the children for adoption, she had the option of keeping tabs on them through open adoption. She couldn’t say whether Webby would like that much either; Webby probably wanted her to be quit of the whole thing. 

Then again, Webby had been the byproduct of rape and that didn’t mean Wren loved her any less. She forced herself back up to look at the eggs, the twins. At present, they didn’t remind her of their father. They made her heart ache, but for a different reason. 

Was it hypocritical to abandon them when she’d held onto Webby? True, she’d passed the buck to her mother, but that was because she’d thought Webby was genuinely safer with her grandmother than her. That hadn’t turned out at all as she wanted.

If she hadn’t killed Steelbeak herself, she’d have worried about giving the FOWL leader more pawns to use against her. Webby’s fate had affected her so much that Steelbeak, along with the drug cocktails, had no problems manipulating her into what she wanted to do. Webby had changed her life, but she couldn’t bring herself to say that she’d ruined it, even after everything that she’d endured. She’d loved Webby from the moment that she’d laid her egg.

At the time, too, Mrs. Beakley had access to Scrooge McDuck’s manor and ought to be under his protection. It’d seemed like Webby would’ve been better cared for by someone who had done it before than by Wren, who’d made a mess out of things. Would it be better for the twins to grow up with parents who had their act together? Wren couldn’t exactly say that it held true for her, even if she was trying to make it so.

Emotionally, she was in a better place than she’d been before Webby’s hatching. She no longer had to fear for her life or Webby’s. Her shoulders sank. Emotionally, it made _sense_ to keep the twins. Her stomach nearly revolted at the thought, though. Did she want two more children? She’d never had the gift of raising Webby from a hatchling and she knew that she’d missed pivotal moments in Webby’s development as a result.

If she gave them up, would she feel guilty about it? It had made sense to let her mother raise Webby. Did it still make sense to have someone else raise the children? Her children. No, they weren’t hers. At present, they were just eggs, potentially waiting for someone or something. Wren sighed. She needed to talk this out with someone. It felt like her thoughts were going in circles.

Keeping them wouldn’t mean she’d regain what she’d lost with Webby’s development. These two would be different, with different personalities, likes, and dislikes. They’d be curious about their parentage and, unlike with Webby, they wouldn’t know their father. That was a blessing, in Wren’s mind.

Then again, they didn’t need to know her either. Simply because she’d laid them didn’t mean that she was responsible for them beyond that. And if they hadn’t been the product of a rape, they’d been an accessory to murder. Wren stifled a humorless laugh. She’d only succeeded because she’d distracted Steelbeak in an intimate way and then, they’d come about.

In a way, they were fellow conspirators. Thinking about them that way gave her a warm feeling. It was then that she realized that she’d decided already. Her hindbrain hadn’t been polite enough to let her conscious mind know, not until this moment. Pressing her hands against the incubator glass, she imagined cradling the eggs in her arms. There were a few pictures of Della with the triplets before they were born. Wren imagined what it’d be like to hold the eggs and then the hatchlings. They’d be so needy and demanding. They would need her in a way that she’d never been before, not to that extreme.

Wren grimaced, gritting her teeth. She’d promised Webby. After everything that her daughter had gone through, it didn’t feel right to break a promise. She knew in her heart what she had to do.

She just hoped that, whatever came, Webby would find it in her heart to forgive her.

Swallowing hard, she headed for the door, cast one last look at the twins, and sought out her mother. Before she spoke with Webby, she wanted to talk to her and Della about what the next steps were. She felt at peace for the first time in a long time. Finally, she was safe and everything would be all right. FOWL might be planning retribution, they couldn’t let such an offense slide, but Steelbeak was no longer in the picture. And that was all that mattered.

Her mother was in the kitchen and preparing lunch when Wren walked in. She smiled at her, but Wren couldn’t muster a smile in return.

“What is it, dear?” Mrs. Beakley said and automatically put a kettle on. Wren rolled her eyes. Leave it to her mother to think anything troubling demanded a “cuppa”. Still, it did sound pleasant right about now.

“It’s Webby and the eggs,” Wren said, sliding onto a barstool and groaning, head in her hands. “She’s been through so much already that I don’t want to put her through another ordeal.”

“There’s a ‘but’ lingering in there,” her mother said shrewdly. “Out with it.”

“I thought I was giving up the twins for adoption, but...I’ve already picked their names, envisioned raising them, and I’m in a better place emotionally and physically than I was when I laid Webby’s egg,” she confessed, her voice muffled because her head remained in her hands. She drew a shaky breath and resisted the temptation to hug herself again.

Mrs. Beakley sat beside her and put a hand on her shoulder.

“You want to keep them, don’t you?” 

“Would that be so wrong?” Wren burst out. “I’m not saying that I’m happy about how they came about. I’m not saying that I…”

She couldn’t continue. Part of the problem was that she’d always been conflicted about abortion, adoption, and keeping a child. While she was pro-choice, she personally couldn’t envision getting an abortion, especially as a duck laying viable eggs. It just felt wrong to kill them, even though they didn’t feel pain at this point and were tiny, unformed things that couldn’t survive on their own.

Adoption, on the other hand, meant giving up the twins...she raised her head and looked at her mother.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I feel like I’ve already made up my mind to keep them, and then doubts creep in. Like, would they be better off with someone else? Would they be happier not knowing how they came about? Would they be happier...if I weren’t their mother?”

“You don’t know any of that,” her mother reminded her. 

“Plus, Webby’s going to freak out.”

“Webby will get over it.”

“No, she won’t,” she said, surprised that her mother was being so callous about it. “After what Steelbeak and Black Heron put her through, she doesn’t deserve another nasty thing thrown in her face.”

“You can’t protect her from the world, Wren.”

“I can’t even protect her from her goddamn father!” Wren snapped and her chest ached. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes and she swallowed past a lump in her throat. Damn it, she’d sworn that she wouldn’t cry. She’d promised herself that she was done weeping over this whole, tawdry affair.

She was abruptly angry, both at herself and at her mother, but primarily herself. “It took me almost eight fucking years to free us. Eight. Years. With no help from you or Mr. MoneyBanks here. It should’ve been less. You should have found me. I should have freed myself. 

“I shouldn’t have this hanging over my head!” Wren snapped, springing to her feet. “All I wanted, all I ever wanted, was to follow in your footsteps and become a SHUSH agent. And then I screwed it up and you couldn’t even protect Webby for one lousy afternoon!” 

“Wren--” Mrs. Beakley’s eyes widened in alarm. “Wren, darling--”

“No,” Wren growled. “I’m grateful that you gave me and Webby a place to stay, Mother, but you failed me. You failed both of us. And I failed Webby even worse because I should’ve known better than to fall into that trap. Webby has every reason in the world to hate me and she will once she knows that I’m keeping the eggs.”

The kitchen door swung and Wren cursed. 

“Fuck,” Wren said into the sudden silence. “That had to have been one of the kids.”

She rushed over to the door and spied a small figure whipping around the corner, too fast for her to figure out who it was, beyond it not being Lena. 

“Fuck,” Wren snapped. The boys and Webby were of a height, which was a problem when it came to identifying them at a blur. “It couldn’t have been Lena, of course not. Lena can at least keep her damn mouth shut.”

The hot ball of rage and resentment burned in her chest and she glowered at her mother.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Mrs. Beakley snapped. “You were loud enough that someone could have overheard you without the door open. And leave Lena out of this. That child has endured enough trauma.”

Wren fumed. “I should find out which one of them it was and run damage control. If one of them knows, they’ll all know soon enough.”

“You’re in no condition to speak with them,” Mrs. Beakley reprimanded her. “You are far too upset and have no control over yourself.”

“Like you and your stupid British control?” Wren spat. She was starting to remember why they’d fallen out. Her mother’s attitude used to drive her up the wall as a teenager.

“Or should I say facade of control, because you Brits don’t let yourselves feel anything beyond contempt?” Wren scoffed.

“Would you care to calm down or would you rather continue bickering while the children discuss what they’ve overheard amongst themselves?” 

“You just said that I’m not emotionally capable of dealing with my daughter right now,” she shot back.

“You are going to say or do something that you will regret,” she warned. Behind them, the tea kettle whistled incessantly and Wren snarled, turning off the flame and whipping the knob back so abruptly that it snapped off in her hand.

“If I remember correctly,” Mrs. Beakley snapped, “this is precisely how you ended up in Steelbeak’s clutches in the first place. You went to that soiree to spite me because you insisted that you could handle it.”

“Throw that in my face, why don’t you? You never would’ve gotten caught in that trap, because you’re so smart and talented and careful,” she spat.

“No, I would not have, because I would have at least read the file before dashing off.”

“Practically perfect Bentina Beakley,” Wren retorted. “Do you fly too? Or is that extra?”

“Don’t be preposterous. It’s just like you to ignore the situation at hand and focus on an old grudge. I expect you spent the last eight years nursing your grudges against me.”

“Maybe I wouldn’t have been if your boss wasn’t so piss poor at finding people! He couldn’t even find his own niece when she stole _his_ rocket.”

The kitchen door slammed open and the two women looked up. Della Duck stood in the doorway and her eyes flashed.

“Would you two knock it off? The whole mansion can hear you,” she snapped. “If you didn’t want to upset Webby, you’ve already failed. And don’t drag me into your mess.

“Uncle Scrooge couldn’t find me because Lunaris was blocking my transmissions. Mrs. B couldn’t find you for presumably the same reason,” Della said and her tone gentled. “You’re scared, Wren. I get that. But you’re scaring the kids too. And as you’ve said, Webby’s been through enough already.”

Wren grimaced, feeling guilty. She shouldn’t have lashed out at her mother. 

“I’m sorry,” Wren said quietly. “I’m not mad at you. I’m upset about the situation. Webby is the only good thing I have in my life and I keep thinking that she’s going to walk out of it at any moment. 

“After I killed her father and Heron, I was positive that she’d stay with FOWL instead of me.

“I’m not sorry that I had Webby. I’m sorry that I failed her.”

“You didn’t fail her,” Della said. “No one failed anyone and if they did, that’s in the past. You can’t keep fighting the past or you’ll never get to the present. Come on. We can all talk to the kids.”

As one cohesive unit, they left the kitchen. They’d need to track the kids down and Wren had a shrewd idea where her daughter had gone.

* * *

Webby paced back and forth in her bedroom. She hadn’t allowed the boys in, but Lena was here. Lena watched her and wore a bemused look.

“Pink, you’re going to wear a hole in the floor,” Lena teased.

“She fucking promised!” Webby snapped. “She promised!”

Normally, she wasn’t given to temper tantrums. Unfortunately, every once in a while, Steelbeak’s temper flared in her. 

“I should’ve known that she’d break her word,” Webby snapped. “I should’ve known better than to trust her. Steelbeak was right.”

“Woah, Woah. Slow down there,” Lena said. “The villain’s never right, pink. They may make you feel like they are. They may even treat you like you’re important to them while they’re in the middle of their scheme, but once they’re done with you, you’re tossed aside like yesterday’s trash. Whatever your dad said, he wasn’t right.”

“He said that Mom didn’t love me,” Webby said and her chest was hot. Her eyes burned with tears.

“She stayed with you for almost eight years,” she reminded her. “That’s a lot of torture to endure for someone who doesn’t love you. Steelbeak was trying to separate you two because he wanted you to be dependent on him.”

Webby scowled, folding her arms across her chest and then sitting beside Lena on the bed. Lena pulled her up against her and Webby felt tingly. Downstairs, the boys were knocking and trying to get in, but she wasn’t about to allow them egress. Lena was all right for the time being. She didn’t trust anyone else.

“I don’t want them. I don’t want siblings.”

She stretched out on the bed and Lena pulled her into her arms. Wren had done that too, cradling her as if she were precious. She’d told her so many times that she loved her and Steelbeak had told her that Wren was manipulating her. So which was it? Who was manipulating whom?

“I was all she had in FOWL,” Webby said, so quietly that she could barely hear herself. “Now she has Agent 22 and everyone here.”

She wouldn’t need her anymore. 

“I’m the last person you should be talking to about parents,” Lena reminded her. “My aunt’s a bitch and I’m a shadow, remember?”

“Yeah, but...you also know what I’ve been through. Sorta.”

The boys were too innocent to understand, although she still had the urge to spill her guts to Dewey. She closed her eyes and rested against Lena, who stroked her hair. It was soothing.

“You’re still better off talking to the boys. Or your mother.”

“Oh, no, I’m not talking to my mother,” Webby said and straightened up. “You heard her.”

“The whole house heard her. Even Scrooge probably heard her and he’s been locked up in his office all morning.

“But adults say things that they don’t mean. And your mom’s been through a lot too.”

Webby stared at her and Lena smiled weakly.

“Just saying. It’s not like you’ve got a monopoly on suffering. That’s, like, a third of this house.”

She was right. Webby frowned, lying back down. She didn’t want to face her right now. What was so wrong with lying here, staring up at the ceiling and thinking about nothing? The rest of the world could wait. Besides, if her mother was so eager to make up with her, then maybe she’d come up with a decent rationale for keeping those eggs.

Webby simmered, but beneath the rage was fear. She didn’t want to lose her mother or end up being shunted back to FOWL. She wanted to stay here, for what it was worth. She liked Lena and the boys. Hell, she liked Della too...and she blushed at the thought.

“What?” Lena said, feeling the heat from her cheeks.

“I kinda have a crush on Della…” Webby murmured.

She felt Lena smile. “She’s pretty badass, isn’t she?”

“Yeah, she is,” Webby agreed. Shutting her eyes, she whispered, “I kinda wish she was my mom instead.”

* * *

Wren told herself that she could’ve been worse. If Steelbeak had had his druthers, she would’ve been a monster. Now that she wasn’t in the midst of FOWL, exhaustion constantly clawed at her. Plus, she wasn’t running constantly on adrenaline. Mrs. Beakley had decided to run damage control and told Wren to stay out of it. 

Besides, Webby wasn’t unlocking her door for anyone, not the boys or the adults. She might unlock it for Della, but that seemed dubious. They should wait for things to settle down first.

She’d just take a brief nap, then, and maybe while she was asleep, she could come up with a decent proposal for Webby.

As soon as her head hit the pillow, she was a goner.

* * *

  
  
A woman wearing a bug costume sneered at Webby. Webby was bleeding profusely and missing her left eye. In that intuitive dream logic, Wren knew that this woman had mutilated her daughter. Wren sprang at her and slammed her against the wall. They were beneath Funso’s and the other woman grinned.

Bianca. Bianca Beakley. That was it. But, no, Wren didn’t have siblings. So who the fuck was this woman?

“I’m teaching my daughter a lesson about trust,” Bianca sneered. “Namely, that she should never trust anyone.”

Wren punched her in the face and scrambled toward Webby. Webby was gasping, in shock, and Bianca shoved Wren away. A heated blade lowered from the ceiling and before Webby had a chance to move, it severed her right hand. Wren screamed, so angry that she could barely breathe for the rage.

“See? Better,” she said. Webby cradled the stump of her arm and Wren tackled Bianca into the wall. She grabbed the blade from its holder and nearly took off Bianca’s head. If the other woman hadn’t bent backward at the last split second, she would’ve decapitated her.

“Who the hell are you to tell me what to do with my daughter?” Bianca said, scowling.

“Webby is _mine_!” Wren roared and decked her. If this woman was a Beakley, then she ought to know how to fight. Yet she hadn’t shown any indication she did. Wren didn’t care. She swung the ax.

“Wait,” Bianca pleaded. “I don’t think--”

“That’s right,” Wren sneered. “You don’t think.”

She opened up her throat and gave her a second mouth. Webby watched in horror as her mother was again painted in blood. Wren let out a jagged breath. 

“You’re not my mother…” Webby breathed and then, still cradling her right arm, bolted through the door. Wren rushed out after her, but she’d vanished into thin air. Injured, without depth perception, and vulnerable, Webby was lost somewhere in FOWL. And it was Wren’s fault.

“Webby!” Wren screamed. “Webby, wait!”

The world disappeared around her and she was inexplicably struck by an old video game title. “The World Ends With You”. Without Webby, the world had ended.

“Baby...come back…” Wren whispered brokenly. She stood in white space with only Bianca’s body as company. “Baby…”

She reached out into the blankness and her fingers dripped with blood. She wasn’t innocent anymore, far from it, but now it felt like she was damned too.

* * *

Steelbeak was well enough to perform surveillance underneath Funso’s. He’d watched his daughter play with the boys, but not the other children. He felt removed from the situation. He still couldn’t believe that Wren had tried to kill him. 

Clearly, Wren was smarter than he’d given her credit for. That would teach him to underestimate her. He sighed. He wanted what was his--Webby. Then he’d let the vultures hit Wren and Agent 22 and disappear with Webby. She’d never see her again if she lived to see anything. 

* * *

Wren stood in the same room with the eggs again and sighed. She couldn’t bring herself to do what Webby couldn’t either. It wasn’t their fault that they’d come into this world from a rapist. She’d do good by them, she swore. 

But she needed to talk to Webby more. The eggs could wait. They were waiting, after all, in their incubator. Webby was an immediate dilemma. She owed her so much.


	8. Chapter 8

For dinner, Webby finally came down. She sat beside Lena, and the atmosphere was tense. The boys, who had no idea what was going on, looked from Della to Wren, to Mrs. Beakley in confusion. Scrooge remained sequestered in his office; Mrs. Beakley assumed it was a big business contract that he feared to fumble or handoff. He wanted to handle it himself. She’d already given him dinner in his office.

Webby was fidgety, playing with her food and finally abandoning the attempt five minutes after starting. She looked up at the adults and searched for a friendly face. Her gaze landed upon Della, and Mrs. Beakley saw the hero-worship there. Wren had mentioned that Webby might’ve had a crush on Della, and Mrs. Beakley could see it. She disapproved because she hadn’t entirely forgiven Della for what she’d done to the family, but Webby could have had worse role models. At least she wasn’t aspiring to be like Steelbeak or Black Heron.

“May I be excused?” Webby asked. Beneath the table, Lena squeezed her hand. She must’ve felt solidarity with the shadow girl, which troubled Bentina too. She didn’t like the idea that her granddaughter had been so abused that she sought the company of a kindred spirit. Then again, she hated that Lena had been abused in the first place.

“We need to talk, you and I,” Wren said. She looked like she could’ve used a glass of wine with dinner, but Mrs. Beakley had a strict “no alcohol in front of the children” rule. Della wasn’t much of a drinker, and Bentina didn’t want her daughter relying on alcohol for “liquid courage” or as a way to cope with what had happened to her in FOWL. Alcohol could be a crutch, and it was one more complication Wren did not need.

“There’s nothing to say,” Webby said, sullen. “May I be excused?”

“What’s going on?” Dewey asked. “You were locked up in your room almost all day, Webby.”

Webby squared her jaw. She opened her beak, perhaps about to tell him exactly what had prompted her behavior, but then shut it again. A cold, shuttered look fell over her features, and Bentina despaired. Though she’d only seen that look once in person, she knew it. Black Heron had taught her how to school her features, present a mask, and display nothing but contempt. She knew that Webby cared about the boys since she knew them right now; this wasn’t personal. Webby was creating a barrier to protect herself. It made Mrs. Beakley wince.

“Please, Webby,” Wren pleaded. “We need to talk. I know that I’ve hurt you.”

Webby threw down her napkin. Her cold gaze swept her mother and then dismissed her. “I’m going to my room.”

“You haven’t been dismissed, Webbigail,” Mrs. Beakley said, just as icy as Webby’s tone. “None of you have been.”

“Ooh, drama,” Louie muttered, and Mrs. Beakley wanted to smack him. 

Webby faltered. Obedience in FOWL had probably carried a physical punishment if she failed to adhere to orders. Webby had to know they would never use corporal punishment on her, which might weaken her resolve to obey them. Lectures were never fun, but they could be borne so long as there was no violence involved. And Bentina would be damned before she raised her hand to a child.

“Why don’t you sit down and tell us what’s going on?” Huey suggested in a mild, soothing tone. “We’re all ears. Why don’t you start from the beginning?”

Dewey sat on Webby’s other side now, and Webby gritted her teeth. 

“This doesn’t concern you,” Webby said, but she hesitated. She didn’t want to expose herself and make herself vulnerable, yet at the same time, she wanted to trust the boys. Bentina was thankful that Wren had remained in contact with Webby throughout their confinement. If she hadn’t been, she had no idea what sort of monster Steelbeak and Black Heron would’ve produced. Webby still had bad habits to unlearn, but at least she wasn’t hopeless. 

“It concerns everyone in this house,” Bentina said, and Webby glanced at her. It was only a second, so quickly, that she questioned whether she’d seen it or not, but Bentina saw hurt in her eyes. Hurt and fear. She was worried about being supplanted in her mother’s eyes. It was one of those flashes of intuition that had made her such a good SHUSH agent...and had fallen flat when it came to instilling that in Wren.

“What does?” Dewey asked.

Wren cleared her throat. “I’ve decided to keep the eggs.”

Webby tore the napkin on her placemat to shreds. She did this without looking down--her gaze was rooted to her mother. Dewey touched her shoulder, and she flinched as if anyone else who might have touched her would have hurt her. It sickened Bentina. It also made her want to draw Webby into her arms and hug her tightly.

“You don’t want siblings?” Dewey asked, confused.

“I don’t want _these_ siblings,” Webby said. Her tone was neutral now, but she kept tearing the napkin into smaller and smaller pieces. 

“I’m not abandoning you, Webby,” Wren said gently. “I’m not going to forsake you for the twins.”

Webby’s beak was tight. She wanted to leave the room, but she hadn’t been dismissed. She also wasn’t certain what form her punishment would take, which was probably the only reason she hadn’t walked away yet. 

“Pink, you’ll be okay,” Lena murmured. “They’re good people.”

The napkin could’ve been used for confetti at this point, yet Webby kept shredding it.

Mrs. Beakley rose, and Webby watched her as a prey watched a predator move across the plains toward them. She held her ground, and Bentina suppressed a sigh. She moved around the table and hugged Webby tightly. The girl looked up at her, and Bentina saw the conflict in her eyes. She wanted to be held and reassured, but Agent 22 was the enemy. Moreover, she wasn’t sure of her place in this family if Wren kept the eggs. After all, Wren didn’t have a sordid history with her soon-to-be siblings. 

“Shoosh, Webby,” she said and stroked her granddaughter’s hair. “Shoosh. No one’s getting rid of anyone here. You’re safe.”

The word “safe” was a loaded one. Wren startled, looking oddly at her. Yes, Bentina knew all about FOWL’s possible vengeance for Wren’s actions, but as long as she drew breath, she would protect her family. Webby trembled and pressed her face against her grandmother’s chest. Mrs. Beakley hugged her tighter. To her surprise, Webby’s arms went around her. Beneath the icy demeanor and her desperate attempts to flee was insecurity. She imagined it’d be rather difficult to feel secure in a villain’s headquarters.

“I want to prove that I can be a good mother to all three of you,” Wren said. “Now that you’re all safe and sound, I can be the mother that you deserve.”

“McDuck Manor is like Fort Knox,” Della offered. “No one’s getting in here.”

“I wouldn’t go that far, dear,” Mrs. Beakley said. Webby was still shaking, and Bentina wondered just how frightened she was. She wouldn’t have admitted to it aloud, but the fact that she was hugging her so tightly made her think that she had no intention of letting go, not for a while.

“But FOWL is not going to get ahold of any of you,” Bentina said. She released Webby and then knelt in front of her. “I love you. Your mother loves you. We’ll do everything within our power to keep you here. No one is going to steal you away from us again.”

Nonetheless, a lump formed in her throat. She hoped she wasn’t making promises that she couldn’t keep.

“FOWL got to us before, though,” Webby murmured. 

“We were outside of McDuck Manor,” Mrs. Beakley said. “And anyway, it won’t happen again.”

Wren scoffed, and Mrs. Beakley looked at her sharply. Bentina glowered at her daughter. She knew what she was thinking, but that wouldn’t do her any good right now. She didn’t need to introduce further doubts into Webby’s mind. Heaven knew that the girl had enough as it was. 

Webby didn’t look convinced either. The boys leaned forward in their seats and then left to put their arms around her too. She startled, and Mrs. Beakley suppressed a sigh. She wished that her granddaughter didn’t flinch at any sudden movement. Lena came over and stroked Webby’s hair. Webby’s beak twitched toward a weak smile.

“Besides, Steelbeak is gone,” Wren said. “And why should HQ go after us when they’ve got bigger problems?”

Bentina didn’t know if she was trying to convince them or herself. In either case, it didn’t work. 

* * *

Steelbeak watched his daughter hungrily as she cavorted about town with the boys. He wanted to get his hands on Wren, but the woman was stubbornly staying within McDuck Manor. Even as angry as he was, he wasn’t foolish enough to attempt to break in there. Not yet, anyway. The Buzzards had a plan for that too, and they had warned Steelbeak in no uncertain terms that he needed to follow their guidance. 

So, he watched, fists balled, as the Duck brothers taught Webby all the wrong lessons. They were kind and gentle with her. Steelbeak could see there was a lot she’d have to unlearn. They were also casually touching her, and Webby soaked it up like a flower that had grown up in the desert. She was so needy that it was ridiculous. Plus, he could tell she had a crush on Della Duck. She followed Della like a lost duckling.

Della was an interesting case, though. He stroked his chin thoughtfully. He wouldn’t like that dame mad at him—the Duck temper was legendary—but she might be a decent replacement if he couldn’t subdue Wren. Also, the Buzzards wanted him to kill Wren, not subdue her. She’d caused too much trouble. They were oddly upset about Black Heron’s demise, though he didn’t see why. It wasn’t like she’d done anything spectacular in the last few decades. As far as he was concerned, she was a has-been. And now she definitely was.

Della had spirit and passion. He could see himself going for a girl like that. Plus, she was fiercely devoted to her family, and he valued loyalty. Plus, if he hooked her, maybe Webby would come willingly. The boys wouldn’t, though. He’d have to find a way to shut them up without Della knowing. She was too protective over them to let his killing them go unanswered.

Still, she had potential. He would keep an eye on her too. It wasn’t like there was much else to do, considering that he was cooped up here until he fully recovered from being fucking shanked. Man, that stung. It hurt his pride more than anything. She’d taken his attraction to her and used it against him. From the beginning, he’d thought that he could do the same to her with impunity, but she’d finally showed him up.

Now, if he’d had Wren and Della, things could get interesting very fast. Then again, the Buzzards had also said that the Duck family was off-limits. Damn it. Della Duck was very close to Scrooge McDuck, too. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to tell that Scrooge adored his niece and vice versa. He was far closer to her than Donald. If Steelbeak plotted anything with her, he’d have to tread carefully.

It might be worth it. He had plenty of time to work out the logistics and any pesky details. As he watched Webby join her grandmother at the grocery store, he noted how Agent 22 kept touching Webby. Della was helping Agent 22 shop, and every time she turned around, Webby’s gaze sought her like she was the sun. Yeah, he’d have to do something about that. Maybe instead of taking Della, he could break her and show Webby that Della wasn’t all she was cracked up to be. Granted, crashing on the moon and being stuck there for a decade hadn’t broken her, but there were other ways to break someone’s spirit. 

Look at Wren. He’d broken her spirit for eight years. Then, of course, it’d come back to haunt him. Feh. He’d get her back. He’d get them all back. When he finally had Webby again, he’d destroy her “secret heart” and turn her into the cold, ruthless killer that he knew she was. Her sweet, innocent side couldn’t last forever.

She was supposed to be the FOWL heir, and she couldn’t be that if she kept getting coddled. No, he’d have to take Wren, Agent 22, and Della down a notch. Then he could begin remaking the future in earnest.

* * *

She wanted to tell the boys that she sensed someone watching them at Funso’s, but she didn’t want to sound insane. Besides, they were getting along just fine, provided that she didn’t bring up her weirdness. She was keenly aware of the divide between them—how could she not be? They might have grown up without their rich great-uncle, but they hadn’t wanted for affection and attention. Compared to her, they were well adjusted and happy. Meanwhile, doubts crept in. 

What if her mother decided she’d rather have the eggs than Webby? What if she preferred them to Webby? What if she threw her back to FOWL? Webby wasn’t entirely certain she didn’t belong in FOWL anyway. From the way her father had described it, her only place was with FOWL. 

The sense of scrutiny intensified, and she broke away from the group to determine where it was coming from. Louie was busy conning drinks, Dewey was playing a video game, and Huey was in the ball pit. None of them noticed her slipping away and heading for the back exit.

The Funso mascot didn’t speak as she passed him, either. Instead, dark eyes set in a darker face watched her with the same unsettling hypervigilance that she’d noticed before. Shuddering, she touched her hips and remembered she didn’t have her blades. She’d renamed them Phobos and Deimos...right before Agent 22 had confiscated them. They would’ve been useful here.

There were no employees in the break room, and the meat locker was likewise deserted. Nonetheless, she felt keenly observed. She searched for weapons or anything that might be turned into one. Dashing into the kitchen, she found a couple of knives. They weren’t her usual, but they’d do in a pinch.

“You aren’t supposed to be back here, little girl,” a woman with brown hair said, frowning. Her feathers were also brown, albeit a lighter shade than her hair. “Give me those knives.”

Webby backed away, holding the knives, missing the sheathes she used to carry her blades in, and darted away.

“Hey! Don’t run with knives! That’s dangerous!” the woman called, chasing her. Webby found a service elevator tucked into the back, not far from the exit, and it opened at her approach. She shuddered. Someone knew she was back here and was trying to make things easier. Meanwhile, that woman, whose name tag said Bernadette, held out her hands for the knives.

“I didn’t know this was back here,” she said. “But that’s not important right now. Please, give me back the knives. You could hurt yourself.”

“I know how to handle them,” she promised and stepped onto the service elevator. The woman tried to follow her, but the doors shut between them, and the elevator descended. 

Webby didn’t have long to worry about where she was going because the elevator only descended a floor before opening again. She stepped out, palming the knives, and walked along an unused service hallway. At least, she thought it was unused until she heard voices issuing out of one of the rooms.

“I’m impressed, kid,” Steelbeak said. He was sitting up in a chair with bandages all over his torso. Webby stopped dead in her tracks, stuck in the doorway, feeling like someone had ripped her heart out. Her chest tightened, and she dropped the knives in shock. 

“You’re...Mom killed you…” she breathed.

“What kinda greeting is that to give your old man?” Steelbeak scoffed. “You act like you’re not happy to see me.”

“You’re supposed to be dead…” she said. She’d frozen like a deer in the headlights, and try as she might, she couldn’t budge.

“Now you’re hurting my feelings,” he said. “I thought you’d be happy to see me. I _am_ your father.”

“No…” she breathed. Dread had captured her heart. If her father wasn’t dead, then perhaps Black Heron wasn’t either. Perhaps FOWL aimed to take her, Wren, and the eggs after they punished the others for harboring them as fugitives. She was shaking, and she couldn’t stop moaning “no.” 

Steelbeak got up from his chair and moved slowly toward her. Her paralysis broke, and she ran, crashing into Eggheads. Her heart was in her throat, and she dodged and weaved around them. She didn’t see the right hook that took her out; she had a few seconds before crashing into the floor that she was aware something was horribly wrong. Then darkness descended, and she forgot everything, including the Duck boys. 

When she awoke, she was in the same room where she’d found her father, although she was bound to a chair opposite him. She struggled, and the ropes dug into her arms. They weren’t tight enough to snap, nor were they loose enough to wriggle free. Since she’d dropped the knives, they were of no use to her, though the point was moot. Her captors wouldn’t have let her keep them.

“Do you not like me, Webbigail?” Steelbeak sneered. “I did all of this for you, you know. I opened the service elevator. I distracted the boys so that we could have a little chat.”

Her heart pounded fit to burst her chest. She could taste metal in the back of her beak and knew it was her fear. 

“I’m not going back,” she said. She’d intended for her voice to sound confident and self-assured. It came out weak and breathy. Steelbeak moved his chair to her and studied her less than six inches away. Sweat trickled down her feathers, and she drew a shuddering breath. He was studying her as if she were a mechanical device in need of tinkering. He stroked her hair back, and it sent waves of revulsion coursing through her.

Her mind came up blank on everything.

“You’re my kid. You belong to me,” he said. “And your mother has to pay for taking you away from me.”

Webby’s stomach roiled. She thought she might be violently ill. She didn’t know what to say or who to defend. While she hadn’t approved of her mother’s choices, she understood why she’d acted the way she had. Her father was evil through and through, and she thought that she’d been protecting her. However, Steelbeak _had_ partially raised Webby. Her stomach cramped painfully.

Steelbeak watched her avidly. “You’ll feel better when we’re back at HQ.”

“I’m not going back,” she said, though she knew she had no choice. Damn her curiosity. Steelbeak smirked and hugged her. Her stomach cramped so hard this time that she gagged, the agony keen and unrelenting. He stepped back from her to avoid getting splattered. She stared up at him with a silent plea that he ignored.

“You’ll feel better back at HQ,” he repeated. “As soon as I’ve gotten Wren back for attempting to kill me, that is.”

His eyes flashed. “She can’t get away with that. She can’t be allowed to. Sets a bad precedent.”

He grimaced and rubbed his chest. “F’in broad cut me deep as hell, too. If it hadn’t been for FOWL, I would’ve bled to death.”

Webby wasn’t brave (or stupid) enough to say that he should have, but she thought it loudly.

“I’m gonna make sure that you don’t take after her,” he said and stroked her hair. She shuddered, which he misinterpreted.

“Yes, we’re gonna fix what’s wrong with you,” he promised. “Don’t you worry. You’re gonna be a fully-fledged FOWL agent in no time at all.”

That was what she was afraid of. 

* * *

“I can’t find her anywhere,” Huey complained. “It’s like she vanished on us.”

“Maybe she left?” Louie suggested, shrugging. “Did you try texting her?”

“No answer,” Huey said. 

“I’m going to look for her,” Dewey proclaimed. 

“We don’t have the faintest clue where to start,” Huey reminded him.

“Not knowing never stopped me before,” Dewey retorted, and Huey groaned, facepalming. 

“Lead the way, Captain Dewey,” Huey said. He glanced at Louie. “At least you’re not Captain Lost.”

“One trip,” Louie grumbled. “I get us lost on one trip, and you hold it against me forever.”

Huey smirked. “Of course I do. We’re brothers.”

Dewey started toward the back of the establishment. He ignored his bickering brothers; he had a hunch that Webby was back there. It coincided with his scanning the room and not seeing her. Of course, he’d have to be clever and cunning, but he could totally do that. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” a woman with brown hair demanded. She was slim and wore a name tag that read Bernadette. “You’re not allowed back here.”

“Did you happen to see a girl about our age pass?” Dewey said, not backing down. “She was wearing a pink skirt and vest and--”

“Yeah, I saw her,” Bernadette said. “She vanished down a service elevator that I didn’t know we had. It was hidden in the paneling. She also took a couple of kitchen knives.”

“That sounds like Webby,” the three groaned.

“Please, can you help us find her?” Dewey pleaded. 

“Are you friends of hers?” 

Dewey nodded. That was a loose interpretation, but that’d work for their purposes. He didn’t intend to correct her, not when they were so close. Bernadette frowned, weighing this, and then shrugged.

“It’s worth more than what they pay me to keep the secret,” she said. “Besides, this place sucks. I’ll show you, but I don’t think the elevator will appear for you. I had the impression that someone was monitoring her.”

“She did say that…” Dewey mused.

“And you didn’t take it seriously?!” Huey cried, outraged.

“Okay, yeah, she was cooped up in FOWL for seven years, and she might be a little ‘off’...but I didn’t think it was a big deal,” Dewey said defensively, and Huey sighed, facepalming.

Bernadette rolled her eyes, probably ignorant of what they were talking about and definitely not caring, and led them down a small hallway to the back exit and a section of the wall that was definitely large enough to hold an elevator. There didn’t appear to be one, though. Just solid paneling. Dewey kicked it, irritated. 

“Kinda wish that we’d invited Lena along now,” Dewey muttered.

“She doesn’t like Funso’s, remember?” Louie said, shaking his head. “Too childish or something. There has to be something here, though. Look at the seams in the paneling. There are little gaps. But how would you bring the elevator back up?”

“There’s probably a mechanism below that controls it,” Huey theorized. “It might not be accessible from here.”

“If there’s an elevator, there have to be stairs too, right?” Dewey said, frustrated and impatient with their assessment. “How would they get out of the building if there were a fire?”

“This is probably someone’s secret hideout,” Huey said dismissively. “I doubt they’re worried about getting caught in a fire.”

“Whatever,” Dewey said. “There has to be a way to activate it.”

He kicked at the walls and, to his shock, a piece of paneling fell off. This lifted his spirits for a minute before he realized that the elevator required a key. 

“Does anyone know how to pick a lock?” Dewey said.

“Not that kind of lock,” Louie said, shaking his head. “It’s not a deadbolt.”

“Why do you know how to pick locks?” Huey demanded.

“Not important,” Louie said. Bernadette had long since vanished back into Funso’s. He frowned at the keyhole that thwarted him. “And kicking it again probably won’t help, dear Dewford.”

“What if we got Uncle Scrooge?” Dewey suggested. “If FOWL’s operating beneath Funso’s--”

“They’d probably be gone before Scrooge arrived,” Huey pointed out.

“Argh,” Dewey complained. “I’m gonna go look for the stairs.”

“You’re not going to find them,” Louie replied. Dewey glowered at them and then stormed off. He knew in his heart that Webby was in danger, even if he couldn’t tell what sort. Dewey acted impulsively and used his gut. His gut was telling him that Webby needed them, and he didn’t intend to disappoint her. 

Unfortunately, his search for the stairs was fruitless. He turned up nothing more useful than that keyhole.

“We’d better call Beakley,” Louie said. 

“And hope we’re not too late,” Huey said.

Dewey scowled. They could abandon hope all they wanted, but he was storming all over this place until he got some answers. He _would_ find Webby. Now wasn’t the time for planning; it was the time for action. He was all about action.

If only they had the faintest inkling of what was going on…

* * *

“All right, Webbigail,” Steelbeak said and smiled cruelly. “First test. Survive.”

Then he kicked her, bound, into a small room full of angry, hungry wolves.

“Oh, and they haven’t been fed in a few days, so be careful. They don’t normally eat ducklings, but…” he shrugged, closing the door. Through the window, he said, “I’ll be back in a half-hour for what’s left.”


	9. Chapter 9

Webby knew her first priority was getting free of her restraints. Steelbeak had left her with the chair and her bindings, but that didn’t have to be a disadvantage. As the wolves leapt at her, she whirled, spinning the chair into their path and slamming them into the walls. There were three; she assumed they were part of a pack. After receiving a few good wallops, they retreated, eyeing her warily. 

She weighed her options. If she freed herself, her movements would no longer be encumbered. On the other hand, the chair was the only weapon she had. It wasn’t like her father had left knives or daggers lying around. 

The door opened slightly, not enough for the wolves to exit, though they did ram the door. Webby’s heart rose at the sight. Someone, possibly her father but probably not, had given her the knives that she’d stolen from the kitchen. They wanted her to have a fighting chance.

She knelt to retrieve the weapons and a wolf struck, raking her with its claws across her back. Webby screamed and, wielding the knives, backed up until she smacked something. The problem, she soon discovered, was that a pack of wolves was used to working together and knew how to coordinate. It was also possible that these were no longer ordinary wolves. Black Heron had been working on an intelligence ray before her untimely demise. 

She decided that mobility was more important than having a chair on her back and set to work slicing her bonds. Another wolf took advantage of her distraction and bit into her right leg. Webby snarled, kicking it off, and took her free knife hand to stab at it backward. Her knife stuck.

Cursing, she spun around. Her legs were free now and the knife protruded from the wolf’s chest. Though it had been a mortal wound, the wolf didn’t appear to know it yet. It called its brethren to it and they encircled her. A couple more slices and her arms were free. She twirled her remaining knife in her palm.

Assuming an offensive stance, she hissed through her teeth as her leg wobbled. She was afraid to look down and see what the wolf had done to it. Instead, she sought to box the wolves in and tried to remember everything Black Heron had taught her about fighting multiple opponents. One of the things she remembered was getting them to trip over themselves, which might be difficult here. Moreover, she wasn’t sure she was capable of the lithe movement required to jump out of the way in time.

Two wolves came charging at her and she jumped, only to crumble and roll. Pain shot through her leg and when she came down on it, she heard a crack. Webby cursed and used the chair to push herself onto her good leg. She braced herself against the chair; this was bad. A stationary target with three mobile opponents. 

Swallowing hard, she sized up the situation. Her right leg was probably broken, not to mention it might have a chunk taken out of it. She wouldn’t be able to stand without assistance, not on both feet. She had lost one of her weapons, although, to her relief, the third wolf finally had the decency to drop onto the floor and pant weakly as it died. Another wolf was missing an eye, which would screw up its depth perception. 

That left the final wolf, which didn’t look injured. It was stupid, but she found herself praying that the boys would come. She told herself that she didn’t need them, but the truth was if she didn’t get help soon, she didn’t like her chances. 

The two wolves eyed her warily. Then the hale one sprang, aiming for her jugular. Webby ducked, rolling and slamming the chair on top of the wolf. She stumbled, landing on her knees, and then pitched onto the floor after her attack. It was official—her right leg would not support her weight.

Steelbeak had warned her that he’d come back for what was left. If she didn’t prove herself, she’d never be a good FOWL operative. More importantly, she’d be dead. In her pocket, her phone buzzed, but she didn’t dare look at it or take her eyes off the wolves.

 _Help..._ she pleaded. _Help_ …

* * *

Mrs. Beakley was in no mood to wait. Grabbing the Phantom Blot, she slammed him against the controls until the lift appeared and used him again to activate it. No one else in Funso’s knew what she was talking about, but the Phantom Blot had tried to creep away from her questioning. Now holding it hostage, she and the boys descended to the basement.

As soon as the doors opened, she flung the man aside and froze. Webby’s scream felt like a dagger thrust to the heart. Without prompting, the boys darted forward, Dewey in the lead. 

“You don’t know what’s going on!” Mrs. Beakley pleaded, but it fell on deaf ears. 

It didn’t take long to discover where her granddaughter was. The scent of blood was thick in the air and Webby’s screams, part battle cry and part agony, rent the air. They arrived in front of a locked door, behind which they could hear frustrated snarls. 

“Nope, I don’t think so,” Steelbeak said. He moved slowly, gingerly, and Mrs. Beakley felt dark satisfaction at how her daughter had maimed him. He had to lean on a crutch to move more than a foot and his face was contorted in pain.

“Testing is in session,” Steelbeak said.

“Ordinary lock tumbler,” Louie announced.

“Okay, we need a strategy, people,” Huey said. “We can’t just barge in there—“

Louie unlocked the door and Dewey sprang into the room. Huey sighed, facepalming.

“Or we could do that,” Huey said.

“Eggheads, seize them,” Steelbeak snapped. Mrs. Beakley grimaced. While she badly wanted to assist Webby, someone needed to draw the Eggheads off the boys. 

“Go,” Mrs. Beakley commanded. “I’ll be right behind you.”

She assumed an offensive stance. “Come and get me.”

* * *

Dewey’s stomach dropped as he beheld Webby. She was in bad shape—her back was bleeding profusely, her right leg looked broken and had exposed muscle and bone, and she was barely holding herself up on a random wooden chair. When he entered, she looked up and their eyes met.

“Dewey! Behind you!” she yelled and he jumped away in time to avoid getting clawed. He rolled, yanking the knife out of the dead wolf, and held it between himself and the half-blinded wolf. 

“Look bigger, if you can!” Huey suggested. “Stand on the chair!”

“I can’t...stand…” Webby protested and even her voice was pained. 

The door slammed open and Mrs. Beakley appeared, looking murderous. She grabbed the two wolves menacing the children and slammed them together until Dewey heard their skulls crack. 

“Webbigail!” Mrs. Beakley cried and held her arms open to Webby. 

“Wow...this knife is really bloody…” Dewey said, finally noticing that it had slick, dark blood on it. He dropped it and kicked it away.

Webby hesitated and her beak formed the words, “Agent 22.” She tried to retreat and stumbled over the chair. She landed hard on her back and Dewey could only imagine how much that had hurt. Webby gasped and her eyes welled with tears.

“We need to get out of here,” Louie said.

“Granny…” Webby whimpered and Mrs. Beakley’s mind was made up. She scooped Webby into her arms and cradled her.

“We will,” Mrs. Beakley told Louie. “Now that we have Webby.”

“Did you come alone?” Huey asked as they rushed toward the elevator.

“Mr. McDuck and Launchpad are in the car,” Mrs. Beakley said briskly. She had to move carefully to avoid jostling her granddaughter. Dewey took the lead and whistled appreciatively. She’d not just defeated the Eggheads, she’d beaten the tar out of them. Steelbeak was nowhere to be seen, which was probably in his best interest.

When they got outside, Scrooge took in Webby, who had passed out in her grandmother’s arms.

“FOWL?” His tone was sharp.

“Steelbeak vanished before I had a chance to confront him again,” Mrs. Beakley snapped. “Bloody coward. We need to go to the hospital. Webby’s in bad shape.”

“I can see that...poor lass.”

Mrs. Beakley glowered. “He set three wolves on her. He doesn’t deserve to ever see her again, much less pretend to be a father.”

They eased into the limo and Mrs. Beakley looked livid. “I’m going to get him for this. We will meet again.”

No one spoke after that. Dewey gazed at Webby, whose features were lined even while unconscious. He stroked her hair back and his heart skipped a beat.

They were almost at the hospital when Huey said sheepishly, “Uh, who’s going to tell her mom?”

Mrs. Beakley cursed and then said, “You didn’t hear that.”

“Sure, sure. I never hear when adults curse,” Louie said and Huey elbowed him in the ribs.

“I shudder to think of how Wren will react to this,” Mrs. Beakley said, shaking her head. “But I should be the one to tell her, not one of you. She deserves to hear it from my beak.”

Webby whimpered and curled up tighter as if to fend off invisible blows. 

“After she’s been seen,” Mrs. Beakley decided. Her dress was covered in her granddaughter’s blood, but she didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe, right now, it didn’t matter.

* * *

“I can’t believe that son of a bitch is still alive,” Wren grumbled. “He has more lives than a cat.”

Webby stirred. It felt like she was swaddled in bandages and she couldn’t move her right leg. She didn’t know where she was, though she felt heavy as if someone had administered a strong sedative. Baffled, she opened her eyes and then did a double-take. She was in the med bay. No, not the med bay. A hospital.

“She’s waking up,” a familiar voice said and it took Webby a moment to place it. Dewey, her grandmother, and her mother were all sitting surrounding her bed. Wren smiled brightly at her and Dewey grabbed Webby’s hand.

“Hey,” Dewey said gently. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I went toe to toe with a wolf and lost,” Webby muttered. She stared at Dewey, whose face bore scratches but who otherwise looked unscathed. She cupped his cheek in her palm. “You came after me.”

“Of course we did,” Dewey said. “You’re one of us.”

“The others wanted to come in too, but the hospital will only allow two visitors at a time,” Mrs. Beakley said. “As you can see, we’ve already stretched that, especially when the two visitors were supposed to be related to you.”

“Why can’t I...oh.” She looked up to see her leg suspended above her bed. It was in a cast. “I broke it, then.”

“The wolf that attacked you broke it,” Mrs. Beakley corrected. “We came in the nick of time.”’

“When I get my hands on Steelbeak again, I swear,” Wren growled.

“I failed,” Webby said quietly.

“I beg your pardon?” Mrs. Beakley said, arching her eyebrows.

“I didn’t prove myself to Steelbeak. I almost died.” She removed her hand from Dewey’s cheek. “I would have died if you hadn’t shown up.”

“Oh, baby,” Wren said and kissed her on the forehead. “No. Steelbeak should never have done that to you.”

“I’m supposed to be his heir,” Webby protested. 

“He made that up to keep you in line,” Wren said and sounded like she was holding her temper just barely. “That was never true, Webby. He thought if he told you that, then you wouldn’t question him or attempt to run away.”

“It...wasn’t true?” Webby’s heart sank. She wanted to be alone now. She hadn’t even realized how much of her perspective was based on Steelbeak’s expectations until her mother had shattered them. Of course, she could ask her father, but he wouldn’t give her a straight answer. Only her mother would.

“He had no say over who succeeded him,” Wren said. 

Webby faked a yawn. “I’m feeling kinda tired again. I think I’m gonna go back to sleep.”

“Webby, baby,” Wren soothed and stroked her hair. Webby turned her head away. It was all she could do since she felt stuck to the bed. She was lying on her stomach, to boot, with her leg suspended behind her so that she had to twist to see it. No matter which way you looked at it, this fucking sucked.

“Oh…” Wren said.

“When you said you wanted to go to sleep, you didn’t mean for all of us to go, did you?” Dewey asked. She closed her eyes. She wasn’t tired, not enough to sleep anyway, but she wanted to be alone. She’d thought Dewey would’ve picked up on that. It wasn’t the type of weary that could be remedied by more sleep.

“Let her rest,” Mrs. Beakley said gently. “We’ll be back later, Webbigail.”

“Mmm,” she said, a non-committal answer. 

Once they had gone, though the door remained open, she was as alone as she was going to get. So, her whole life had been a sham. Steelbeak had trained her for years under the auspices of becoming his heir and he had had no intention of doing it. Or any power to do so. That had been her whole life’s ambition. Every trial and tribulation, every fight with Black Heron, was to prove herself worthy in her father’s eyes.

And it had all been for nothing.

Footsteps. Webby opened her eyes--Dewey had crept back into the room. 

“Hey,” he said gently. “I don’t know if it means anything to you, but Mom said that you shouldn’t have to prove anything to your dad.”

“Yeah, well, I did and I didn’t,” Webby snapped, more venom than she’d anticipated in her tone. She hoped that by spewing acid at him, he might get the hint and leave. And this time, not return a minute later.

Dewey stroked her hair. 

“I like you the way you are,” he said quietly. Then he squeezed her hand and, to her profound relief, left her alone. Even so, it was a long time before she felt herself drifting off into sleep, and then, her sleep was far from restful. 

* * *

Wren sat in the waiting room and covered her eyes. With everything going on, she had to worry about how she was going to juggle the twins and now this. She should have corrected Webby years ago, but Webby wouldn’t have listened. Now, she feared the damage was already done. 

Della sat beside her and put an arm around her shoulders. Wren sighed. She was a bad mother, regardless of what Della and her mother had told her. If she hadn’t been hopped up on drugs three-quarters of the time, she could’ve given Webby the parenting she needed. She’d failed her daughter and all she could think about was how small she’d looked in her hospital bed.

“Hey, hey,” Della said gently. “Don’t beat yourself up.”

“Ye cannae predict what a madman will do,” Scrooge said. He was staring out the window, though she didn’t know what he was looking at. Then again, she wasn’t paying attention to anyone. 

“I should have been able to,” Wren said bitterly, lifting her head. “I was with him long enough. I should’ve known he’d pull some stupid stunt to force Webby’s loyalty. He must’ve seen her around town with the boys and thought she was ‘slipping’ out of his grasp.”

“You mean, not being miserable the way he wanted?” Louie said. 

“Exactly,” Wren said and groaned. “I should never have let her out of my sight.”

“Duckburg’s supposed to be safe,” Huey argued. 

“FOWL shouldn’t have been operating within Duckburg in the first place,” Scrooge snapped. “I blame myself for not being vigilant enough.”

“You can’t be vigilant all the time,” Mrs. Beakley objected and then grimaced. “But this does raise a big question. What are we going to do now?”

“We’ll have to get SHUSH back in working order,” Scrooge said and Wren laughed humorlessly.

“They were never in any sort of order,” she scoffed.

“Just because J. Gander died doesn’t mean that it’s hopeless,” Mrs. Beakley said. “But we’ll have to start from the bottom up.”

“Good luck with that,” Wren scoffed, rolling her eyes. 

“You’re going to be helping us, lassie,” Scrooge said. “We cannae afford to discount any help, regardless of how jaded it might be.”

“Is there anything we can do?” Dewey asked. He looked discouraged and she wondered what Webby might’ve said to him before. It’d been a bad idea for him to hang back, but she knew he was smitten with her. Right now, Webby was hurting and had probably taken advantage of his proximity to lash out at him. 

“Keep an eye on Webbigail,” Scrooge advised. 

“She’s going to need friends,” Mrs. Beakley said. “Heaven knows she has enough enemies.”


End file.
